Avarius Rising
by Mr Toes
Summary: FF6: The ongoing, self-styled chronicles of the world's unluckiest Mage Knight. Join the poor, hapless sod as he stumbles headlong into Part Two: The Thief, the King, the 'Knight, and her brother.
1. Introduction

**Introduction, Disclaimer, and Thanks**

Yo,

Right, if you're going to read this literary disaster, then there's a few things I'd like you to know. Part of this is to avoid confusion, and the rest is to ensure that the huge number of people out there who deserve credit get it. It should've been in originally, it wasn't; I'm correcting that now.

First up, the thanks (yeah, I'm doing this in reverse order, but…well, sod it). I think it would be kinda unfair to present this without giving all due props to Andy Simpson, who has pummelled me around to a far, far better way of thinking about this and has also managed to stop the grammar from going completely off the rails on a number of occasions (You'll probably notice that the grammar in this bit is much, much worse than further on, for instance). He's spent an awful lot of time and effort on this, and it would be practically criminal to not at least mention his name in association with it. Without him, you'd be looking at the vain scribblings of a madman, instead of…well, okay, bad example, but seriously – he's great. Thanks, Andy.

Due thanks also need to go out to everyone, everywhere, who has paid any attention to this or given any suggestions to how it may have been improved. Thanks, guys – even if I can't remember your name (or include it here as the list would stretch for several miles).

Now onto the nitty-gritty legal stuff. It's simple, if it doesn't belong to me, it belongs to Squaresoft. The rest I'm not sure about. I'm an engineer, not a solicitor.

By now you've probably guessed that I'm not much of a _writer_, either, 'cause I've put the introduction last. Basically, this is another take at the story of FF6, with suitable alterations and changes depending on what I feel like. I know novelisations have been done before, and to be frank it's probably just an attack of laziness, but hey, I like to think that I'm at least doing something slightly different.

That's everything. Enjoy the show.

**Avarius Rising**

You have _no_ idea what you're letting yourself in for.

That's a pretty damn dramatic first statement, but it's right. Unfortunately, since I don't have the faintest bloody idea what I'm letting myself in for either I can't take five minutes out of my day to laugh at you…but hey, let's just dispense with the pleasantries and set the scene, shall we? My coffee's getting cold.

I'd like you to imagine, if you can, the start of a fine spring day. The sky is blue, the sun is out, and there's the slightest hint of a breeze rippling through the trees. It's the kind of day where forest animals and sickeningly cute girls burst into spontaneous yet highly choreographed song and dance routines. Unlike those adorable bastards, however, _I_ am cooped up in this highly unexciting study of mine having just concluded a one hour battle with my new typewriter and about fourteen dozen ink ribbons. 'Why?' you might ask. Why in the name of all that's holy would I be spending one of my precious days off being assaulted by the world's smuggest bloody typewriter when I could be outside learning how to tap-dance with the local Tree Sprite troupe and a hedgehog named Billy? Well, I'm pretty certain that I can answer that question. In fact, I'm going to answer it in two words:

My sister. She'll be turning up in approximately thirty seconds time, but I'm just going to warn you now; if you don't know what its like to have an overprotective sister with a pyromania complex and an apparent death wish, you soon will - and in excruciating detail. I don't normally like to point fingers, but everything bad that's ever happened to me is probably her fault up to and including my fingers being savaged by this blasted typing contraption. You see, it was her suggestion that I give this whole damn thing a shot, and…well, when Sis makes a suggestion it's often a good idea to follow up on it. Especially when your fire insurance doesn't start for another two weeks.

Anyway, I guess that's introduced this literary train wreck and my sister, so I suppose the polite thing to do would be to introduce myself. My name is Firmament Manduin Branford; it's unfortunate, but it's the truth, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't laugh too hard when you read this. If it helps, you can always call me Firma. Everyone else does (well, uh, nearly everyone), and it's a bit easier on my memory.

Of course, hot on the heels of any written introduction comes the brilliant, witty description of oneself where one attempts to make out that he happens to bear a distinct resemblance to some bronzed God of War with biceps like mountain ranges and a torso that could eclipse most of a continent. For me, however, that's so far from the truth that I think even attempting to pretend that that was the cause would probably force one of the umpteen deities floating around up there to come down here and, uh, settle my hash. It's a bit of a bugger, but here's what I think is a reasonable description of myself.

A lot of people, I know, tend to think of me as a pretty unremarkable character. If you were to run into me in the street then you probably wouldn't see much more then a slight figure of medium height, wrapped up tightly in a cloak of some description. It's clean, simple, and easily forgettable, which is kind've the whole point. You might, if you look closely, catch a momentary flash of green or silver, but aside from that…nothing.

Underneath the cloak, however, is something of a different story. While all documents pertaining to me (all documents below a certain level of clearance that is) state quite clearly that my hometown is the now non-existent city of Vector, I have little or nothing in common with someone of stock Vectorian heritage. Now, I was going to back this point up with comments regarding my hair and eyes (which, admittedly, are somewhat idiosyncratic) but I've just realised that _everyone_ goes around describing eyes and hair, and to be frank its just getting stupid. In fact, you know what? You can bloody well _infer_ what I look like, thank you very much; I'm just going to press on.

I think just about everyone will know about the slightly disastrous and catastrophic effects that took place when a particular madman decided that the topographical features of the world weren't, uh, quite up to his tastes What you may or may not be aware of are the events leading up to this moment, and the subsequent events that resulted in the world we now live in.

Well, fortunately for you my sister, for one reason or another, suddenly acquired a burning desire to know what really happened. You may not see quite how I fit into this, and neither, frankly, do I. However, my sister is capable of making inane connections that are far, _far_ beyond my understanding and that of mortal man, but that didn't stop her from roping me into her little plan with all the subtlety of a ballistic missile. Of course, the first _I_ knew about all of this was when a letter dropped through my door, addressed to one 'Mr. F Branford, South Figaro'.

While I'm impressed at the postal service's ability to deliver a letter to me based on such a vague address, I kinda wish that I had never picked up the letter off my mat – 'cause, well, I'm now stuck doing this. 'Course, you're stuck here reading this, so I guess fair's fair.

But anyway, it's the jobs that're never started that take the longest to finish, and so…well, where do we begin? Nice simple question, bloody difficult answer, mainly because the beginning – the real, genuine_, actual_ beginning –was about a millennia and a half before I was even born. I suppose I could always guess wildly about what went on, but…that would be even more of a waste of my time then this already is, for heaven's sake.

The problem here is that you can label nearly everything as a beginning. The Cataclysm, the release of Phunbaba (Everyone remember Phunbaba? He was a gas!), the first flight of the Quicksilver Wraith – heck, even my abortive –not to say exothermic- attempts at making breakfast this morning could be considered as a beginning. It just all depends where you set your limits. We could even go from the first blow of the War of the Magi right up to those final moments in the dead gloom of wherever the hell we ended up, where a certain geographical designer got exactly what he had coming to him.

I don't think we will, however – partly because that's rather more work then I'm prepared to do, but mainly because of the fact that there's nothing about the intervening thousand years between that magical conflagration and today that I could write better then the umpteen million history books that you can find down at your local public library.

So, light a cigar, take a draught of your favourite brandy, and place yourself in that particularly comfortable leather armchair of yours, while I attempt to explain why everything happened the way it did.


	2. Part 1: Flashpoint

**Part One – Flashpoint**

**Chapter One – Dawn of Destiny**

I don't think anyone really expects themselves to become a fulcrum.

Actually, it would probably be fairer to say that _I _never really expected to become a fulcrum. I mean, people who're destined to become 'important' or 'heroes' or whatever you want to call them can generally be spotted from a mile off, as either they have a chin like a battering ram and abdominals that can deflect bullets, or they're the sort who have long, carefully managed hair and a personality so depressing that it makes you want to top yourself within five minutes of meeting them. Like most people, I eventually came to the conclusion that in no way, shape, or form was I anything like anyone who might sally forth to save the world.

What I _should_ have realised, in retrospect, is that your average champion only tends to look like that because attractive people sell newspapers. In reality, heroes tend to be small, mousy people who happily do the same thing day in, day out until everything quite suddenly goes to pot. Of course, I didn't realise this, and so I had absolutely no idea that November 15th was the day when I'd suddenly find myself launched into the world-changing events with which we're all so familiar. Naturally, my sister was also blissfully unaware that this day was going to be so, so different, and that's why her boots were, at this very moment, on a direct collision course with my kidneys.

I suspect by now you're probably settling back into the plush leather of your armchair and asking the question 'Okay, chief, you keep on banging on about your sister, but you haven't _actually_ provided much information'. Well, here we go. My sister is none other than the world-famous Terra Madonna Branford, a.k.a. Mage Knight One and a number of other, less-complimentary nicknames. Some of you may already know what she looks like (it's not as if there haven't been plenty of pictures of her in various papers), but I suppose that no introduction is complete without some kind of description…and here it is!

My sister stands at about five foot seven, almost exactly an inch shorter than yours truly and, like me, is maybe on the 'scrawny' side of being slight. This fact tends to pass most people by, however, as, like me, Terra's defining characteristic is a really quite startling shock of emerald green hair. Any soldier, of course, will tell you long hair is a right pain in the arse when you're attempting to get down and dirty with the soldiering, so Terra typically kept the majority of it tied back in a painfully severe ponytail and just clipped the fringe with a handy pair of scissors when commanding officers started making cutting comments.

I'm going to go to hell for that pun. In fact, I think you're probably going to go to hell for reading it.

I suppose I could continue from there, including her tastes in clothing (although we do not speak of that bloody floral print dress), music, food…but there's a limited amount of ink in this typewriter, and I don't really want to build up a database for any budding stalkers out there. If you absolutely _must_ know any of the above, then, well, her address is hardly classified information.

Anyway, let's get going, shall we?

I came to with a sudden oath as Terra's boot lodged itself somewhere between my ribcage and my pelvis. Although the room was barely illuminated, I could easily make out the silhouette of my sister standing over me, the soft glow of her jade eyes throwing her features into light relief. I blinked wearily, swiping at my eyes with a free hand to clear away the sleep. After a moment or two, it became apparent to my tired senses that Terra was not, in fact, saying anything.

"Can I help you?" I asked irritably, raising my eyebrows as I spoke. In response, Terra silently held up a squat, metallic object for my examination.

"That's my alarm clock," I stated flatly, after a moment's study.

"Indeed," Terra replied, in an equally deadpan voice.

"Fascinating," I raised an eyebrow in the ensuing silence, "Have you just woken me up to show me my alarm clock? I bloody well hope for your sake that you haven't."

"It's not wound, Firma," Terra said patiently, "Do you remember what happens when a wind-up alarm clock isn't wound?"

"Oh, wait, I know this one...oh, yes, _that's_ right!" I fixed her with a tired, glassy grin, "It gets force-fed to the first person mind bogglingly _stupid_ enough to bother me about it! Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to sleep!"

"Not so fast, Firma."

"Tee, I swear to Callista that if you keep bugging me you'll be spitting cogs for a godsdamn _month_."

Terra fixed me with a calm, silent gaze, and then _just_ as I was in the process of turning over, "Do you know what time it is?"

"No, sis, I'm not aware," I turned back to favour her with a chilly stare, "How am I _supposed_ to know what time it is when my wind-up clock isn't keeping time because –as you've so patiently stressed- it _isn't bloody wound_?"

"It's four fifteen in the morning, Firma," Terra replied, with more than a note of exasperation in her voice, "You'd know that if your alarm clock was wound up by the loud, pealing noises it would be making right about now."

My vestigial logic lobe gave a dim flicker, and I gave a great sigh into my pillow.

"Oh, bloody hell," I said wearily, sitting up again and wrapping my duvet around me to ward off the chill, "Breakfast?"

Terra smiled, "Breakfast."

"Bugger!" I cursed with feeling, "Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger! I only got to sleep three hours ago!"

Terra's eyebrows leapt up her forehead, "And whose fault is that?" she inquired in that special 'it's your fault, isn't it' tone adopted by mothers and overbearing sisters everywhere. I sighed, and reached out in the dark for the top cupboard of my clothing drawer.

"Well, in that case-" I pulled open the cupboard with rather more force than I had intended, "-you can make yourself useful and find my boots. They should be somewhere over by the door, I think."

There was a slight 'hmm' from on high, but Terra turned away to find her way towards my boots, lazily discarded from the night before. Giving her a mildly amused glance, I gave my full attention to rooting through the large drawer to find a cleanly folded uniform.

"Laundry day tomorrow, is it?" I asked quietly over my shoulder, well aware that people were attempting to sleep on either side of the thin walls.

"Well, I've got one set of clothing left," Terra's voice floated in from around the door, "So yeah."

"Wonderful," I said, holding up one black and one white sock for inspection, "That would make this Mismatched Sock Wednesday, then."

There was a thud from across the room, followed by a somewhat distracted "Sounds about right."

I frowned into the darkness, but with no more information forthcoming I pulled out my jumper and slipped it on over my head.

Okay, here's a little test for you. If I were to say that my uniform was a rather bland, unappealing grey (save for the white sleeves), how many of you would know what I was? It's not really a fair question, given the paucity of information, but I'm just curious to see if you do.

Basically, for those of you who _don't_ know, that uniform is representative of a Trainee Sentinel, or, in simpler terms, a field medical technician. Basically, if someone's managed to get themselves injured, either through combat or by other means, it's our job to find them, do what we can to help, and then bring 'em back to somewhere where more extensive treatment can be carried out. We can be found on the field of combat, on the top of mountains, in the oceans, and trekking across some of the most inhospitable terrain on the planet. In short (and we'll cover this more later) we're here to save your lives.

There was a dull thud as the first of my black, half-calf army boots hit the floor just next to my foot, joined a moment later by its fellow.

"Thanks," I remarked to the far end of the room as I finished donning my trousers and got to work on the highly technical lacing, "Where were they, anyway?"

The reply might've held a slight note of exasperation in it, but I was still too sleepy to be sure, "Where they always are, Firma," Terra said, returning and sitting back down on her already remade bed, "Where they've always been, and probably where they'll always be."

I gave a non-committal 'mmm-hmm' as I finished the first boot before turning my attention to its mate, "And where is that, exactly?"

"At the end of your bed, Firma," Terra sighed wearily before lying back, "Could you hurry up? Some of us happen to be starving."

"You don't have to wake me up, you know," I pointed out as I grappled with the laces, "I reckon you're old enough now to go and grab a bite to eat without my presence."

Terra ignored my jibe, "If I don't wake you up now then I'll still have to wake you up in an hour for Magical Studies, and all that'll do is make sure you're hungry and bad-tempered and just slavering at the prospect of an argument with Celes."

"Oh, you _know_ she's slavering just as much as I am," I tied the final knot in the left-hand boot and stood up, swaying slightly as my blood –several seconds behind events- rushed to my head, "Although...come to think of it, that is quite an unpleasant mental image."

"Can we go? Finally!" Terra moved from her position on her bed to standing in one fluid movement, "Let's get something to eat – I'm ravenous!"

Outside the dark dark room was a dark dark corridor, with walls of concrete and a rather distressed, threadbare carpet underneath. At regular intervals down the passageway small alcoves held doors leading into rooms almost identical to our own. Of course, they were all closed and locked, as _their_ occupants were well aware of the benefits of getting plenty of sleep and, still feeling rather put out about this, I favoured Terra's back with a scowl as she quietly locked the door behind us.

"Okay," she whispered, turning around to face me, "Let's go- what's that expression for?"

"Nothing," I replied with mild annoyance, "I'm just thinking of what I could do with another, oh, four hours sleep."

"Nothing useful, I'm sure," Terra said lightly, her eyes glittering cheerfully in the twilight gloom. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to prevent a small smile from rising to the surface.

"C'mon, Firma," my sister grabbed my hand and started pulling me down the corridor, "You can whine after you've got some food inside you."

At this point, unfortunately, natural honesty forces me to mention that at no point could one ever _really_ consider what the Imperial Air Force canteens churned out to be 'food'. If you were ever unlucky enough to sit down to a meal in the Imperial canteens then you'll know, for certain, that the food there has the appeal of road kill and all the nutritional value of boron. Okay, so it's hard to produce healthy, energy-packed food for what must be going on close on a thousand people, but...well, let's just say that the cooks tried for none of those and succeeded spectacularly in their attempt.

However, if the food was bad, the actual canteen itself was even worse. Someone had once told me that it had been envisaged as a sort of relaxation and gathering area before the budget cuts hit, but to be honest I can't possibly see how _any_ amount of money would have made that damnable hall any better. Essentially, it was nothing more than a large cube, lit from overhead by several racks of dazzlingly bright electric lamps. The furniture was simple; three metal tables that very nearly stretched the entire length of the room, with some really quite horribly uncomfortable wooden benches on either side. It's difficult to describe exactly how uncomfortable those godsdamn things were, but I can tell you that I used to hear of plenty of incidences where people developed calluses on their _behinds_ as a result of dining at Imperial canteens.

There were always a few people around even at this godsforsaken hour, generally either bureaucrats catching a quick cup of coffee or soldiers just coming off the night shift. A few of these turned to watch tiredly as Terra walked cheerfully up to the counter, but quickly turned their attentions elsewhere as my gaze scythed across the room, looking for anyone I might know. My eyes alighted upon a tall, lank fellow brooding darkly over a cup of coffee. With long, unkempt brown hair and a lab coat that was so heavily stained with chemicals that it had given up any thought of being white, it could be no one else but a friend from my medicine classes.

"Hey, Tanis!" I called out to him across the hall, drawing annoyed stares from the rest of the congregation, "I'll be right over, save me a seat!"

Tanis gave me a long, steady gaze before turning slowly to his left and right. Finding nothing but empty, unending tables, he turned back and gave me a look filled with tired contempt. Feeling slightly embarrassed by the whole exchange, I slunk quietly over to the counter where Terra was standing, considering the food on offer with the air of someone pondering a deep metaphysical conundrum.

"You know, I think you were right," she said distantly as I approached, "You really could've done with another hours sleep."

I decided the best approach would be to simply ignore her and, instead, picked up a disgustingly cheerful blue plastic tray from the pile.

"What's on offer today, then?" I asked Terra as I approached the counter, "Anything edible?"

My sister threw me an amused look that spoke volumes, "Well, its Wednesday, so that's-"

"-either porridge or cereal," I finished, staring with dismay into the bowl which held the aforementioned oat soup. Every now and then the bland, grey goop would give off a sulphurous hiss as it deflated a little more, releasing no-doubt lethal gases into the air.

"Are you quite sure that's porridge?" I prodded the mixture with my forefinger, and was mildly disappointed when it failed to strip the digit to the bone, "It looks more like quick-drying ceme-"

"Do you mind?" a thin, reedy voice snapped from out of view, "I've been up making your breakfast since two in the morning, and this is the thanks you give me?"

"Oh cripes…" I muttered, and managed to get safely behind Terra just before Doris the Canteen cook bustled into view, ladle at the ready.

"Right!" Doris snapped, presumably at my sister, "Where is he? Where's that rascal?"

Terra shrugged and took a long step to the left, leaving me to fry in the baleful glare of the cook.

"I thought it might be you," she snapped irritably, and then held out a gnarled hand expectantly, "Give me your tray, deardrie."

I hesitated for a moment before handing her the tray. Not taking her eyes from me, she took a bowl from beneath the counter and slammed it down on the tacky plastic before filling it nearly to the brim with grey porridge.

"Growing lads like you need lots to eat to grow big and strong," she gave me a sickly smile and stabbed a spoon into the centre of the gloopy mix, "Now, I want to see that bowl licked clean, or there'll be no breakfast for you tomorrow!"

"I'm not sure that that's much of a threa-" I began, but my devastating riposte was smoothly cut off by my sister.

"Firma, take your cement and go talk to Tanis," gently but firmly, she rotated me to face towards the tired medic, "I'll join you in a moment."

Well, discretion was the better part of valour, and so it was with my head held high that I strode away to consult with Tanis.

"Honestly, someone should gag that brat…" I heard the breakfast lady mutter somewhere behind me, before she turned to deal with Terra, "Now, dear, what can I get you for breakfast?"

Tanis gave me a tired glance as I sat down across from him, staring with horror at the goop in my bowl.

"She _likes_ you," he said, giving me an encouraging wink.

"Good morning to you too, Tanis," I replied, plonking my bowl on the table and giving him an acid stare.

"Good evening, you mean," Tanis said, swiping at his eyes in a tired manner, "I haven't got any sleep yet."

"Really?" I frowned, ramming my spoon into the porridge with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, "Uh, don't we have another class in about four hours?"

Tanis shook his head, "You should really check the notice board more often, Firma. Because we didn't finish until midnight last night, Professor Peron cancelled today's lecture so he could, and I quote, 'Finally get some blasted sleep'."

"That sounds like him," I reflected as Terra joined us with a cup of coffee, "Doesn't really help me, though. Even if I didn't have these early magic classes, I've still got to prepare for some formation flying this-"

"No, you don't," Terra cut in, earning herself the full effect of my tired glower.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I do," I said irritably, "It's written down on my notice-board and everything!"

"No, you _really_ don't," she sighed, rolling her eyes skyward, "I've already told you, remember?"

"Told me what?"

"You mean you really _don't_ remember?"

"No!" I snapped, "Now can we move on to what it is that I _don't_ remember, please?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Terra put up her hands innocently, "I just can't believe that you haven't heard-"

"_Terra!_"

"Okay, okay..." my sister took a long gulp of her coffee, "You know, maybe you _should_ have had an extra hours sleep. You're in a foul mood today."

For a long, long time, the only sound was the slow, dangerous rapping of my fingernails on the surface of the table.

"Terra," I said brightly, "It is four thirty in the morning and I have had three hours of very rough sleep which –may I remind you- was interrupted rather harshly by your boot becoming one with my urinary tract and a really quite _exciting_ discussion about the merits of winding clockwork-powered alarm clocks-"

"You forgot to wind your alarm clock _again_?" Tanis said, rather unwisely.

"You stay out of this, you bloody insomniac!" I snapped, "Now, _Tee_, I would really, _really_ like to know that all-important bit of news that you're so-"

"Celes is attacking Maranda," Terra said simply.

"...what?" I blinked, suddenly lost for words, "_What_ is she doing?"

"What generals do, I guess," she shrugged, "Apparently Maranda's gotten something into its head about seceding from the Empire, so the Emperor's sent a task force over there to sort 'em out."

"...and when was this announced, exactly?" I looked over at Tanis, who shrugged emphatically, "How did I miss it?"

"General Leo came by our magical lessons last week – y'know, the one that you missed," Terra added pointedly, "He's already laid out all the logistics, but Celes is going to be the one who's actually planning the attack."

"'Cause he's buggered off to fight the good fight in Doma, right?" I nodded, "Well, it sounds like good training for her, anyway."

"Good training for you, too," Terra's smile seemed, for just a moment, to glint rather nastily in the light, "We've been called up as an observation team."

There was a 'clink' as my spoon bounced off the side of my bowl, and I buried my face in my hands, "Wonderful," I said eventually, "That's bloody wonderful."

"It'll be okay, Firma," my sister patted me consolingly on the back, "Here; I'll let you finish my coffee."

"Oh, thanks," I said, "That's supposed to make me feel better, is it?"

"It might wake you up," she pointed out, "C'mon, cheer up; everything seems better when you're up and about!"

"Thank you for that thoughtful observation," I swallowed half of the bitter black fluid and sent down a large spoonful of porridge as moral support. The combined flavour of the two was, to put it mildly, underwhelming, "Gods! There's no way this can _possibly_ be healthy!"

"It isn't," Tanis shrugged, and took another sip of his coffee, "But it probably won't kill you, either."

"Are you sure about that?" I said sourly, washing down another bite of the hateful goo with some more coffee, "There's no way this's been anywhere _near_ oats of any description. You know what? I think Doris has something against me."

"Really?" Terra's eyebrows went up, "It would be so unjustified, too. Anyway, I don't think she'd poison your porridge – it's not as if the Empire's known for employing cereal killers, after all…"

The silence was palpable as Tanis and I exchanged a long, long look across the table. Finally, I turned towards my sister with a faintly disbelieving expression.

"I _thought_ you were giggling in your sleep last night," I said, "How long've you been working on that, exactly?"

"It just came to me," Terra said dryly, "You know, in a blinding flash of inspiration."

"Is that so," I sighed, and regarded the rest of my breakfast with despair, "Ah, hell, I'm never going to get through this. Well, not without a stomach pump – anyone else want it?"

Tanis' face went through a number of different expressions before finally settling on something approaching horror. Interpreting that as an emphatic 'no', I turned to Terra, only to find that she had already clambered to her feet.

"Something I said?" I asked facetiously.

"What?" Terra frowned for a moment before shaking her head, "Oh, no. I've, uh, just got to deal with a few things before Magical Studies. I'll see you there, Firma, provided that you manage to turn up this time."

"I will," I replied blandly, taking another bite of the vile porridge, "That is, if I ever get to the bottom of this bloody porridge…"

Terra laughed, and lightly ruffled my hair before walking away with a quiet 'play nice, you two'. Tanis watched her go, before turning to me with a grin across his long features.

"She's hiding something," he said, in the proud tones of someone stating the obvious.

"Gee, you think so?" my voice held just a hint of sarcasm, "If she'd kicked me any harder this morning, I probably've ended up with a couple of cracked ribs!"

"Do you know what she's hiding, then?" Tanis asked lightly.

"Oh, come on, Tanis," I sighed wearily, "I may be a Wraith-in-training, but that doesn't mean I'm going to go through Terra's stuff to find out what her secrets are. Besides-" I gave him a wry grin, "-I think I should let her keep a few things from me, just so's she can feel all dark and mysterious. If she wants to tell me, then I'm sure she'll tell me."

"Fair enough," Tanis shrugged, before glancing at his watch and then down at my bowl of 'porridge', "You'd better eat up, you know. You've only got thirty minutes to eat that and get over to the hospital."

I glanced down as well, and saw a distressingly large amount of highly dubious foodstuff looking right back at me.

"Oh, blow _this_ for a game of soldiers," I cursed and pushed the bowl away, "There's no way I can finish all this…this…stuff!"

Tanis took the spoon out of my unresisting fingers. "How about this, then; you go and have a shower, wake up, and get over to your magic show, while I'll sit here attempting to down as much of this porridge as'll satisfy Doris."

"Sounds like a brilliant idea," I said, and pushed the tray over to him before he had a chance to change his mind, "I'm certainly not going to pass up an offer like _that_!"

"What a deal, eh?" Tanis said, digging in with his own look of disgust, "You were right, this really is quite hideous."

I stood up, downing the remainder of my coffee in a single gulp, "Well, you asked for it."

"I certainly did," he replied, "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, right? We've got to attend that bloody Order of Callista ceremony."

"Been the high point of my calendar," I raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

I left, gagging slightly at the taste of the coffee.

The shower I had was, quite naturally, cold. This wasn't surprising, considering the typical Imperial view towards unnecessary creature comforts. Still, it managed to finish the job that that coffee had started, and before long I was walking briskly across the barracks, my breath crystallising in the bitter cold as I made my way towards the hospital wing where the lesson was due to take place.

Typically speaking, I'm generally on time for any classes or lectures I have (well, for a given value of 'time'), but for me to be early is a relatively rare experience. Normally I'm rushed off my feet from can to can't, and it requires a fairly major effort to juggle all of my classes and their resultant homework by themselves, never mind all the battlefield exercises and flight time that I have to log as a matter of course. However, despite my extra effort to be the first person to Magical Studies (partially to make up for the fact I slept right through it on Monday) one person had managed to slip in just before me, and was at that moment staring at the door with an expression of perplexed impatience.

"Mornin', Celes," I said wearily, starting down the corridor towards her, "Sleep well?"

Now, here I meet a little dilemma. On the one hand, I have to describe one of my best friends in such a manner that doesn't make her out to be the local gorgon, because the inevitable result of that is that I'll end up in the concussion ward after being beaten senseless with a boating hook. On the other hand, however, I happen to be engaged to a wonderful woman – the problem here being if I go too far the other way and cause small flecks of drool to appear on the lips of adolescent males everywhere…well, it's widely known that hell hath no fury like the sharp, pointy grapnels of a fiancée scorned.

Anyway, General Celestine Chere could be said to be strikingly beautiful. Clocking in about my height, she bears the features typical of someone not from Vector, but from the more southerly town of Albrook. With long blonde hair and a figure that resembles a sand-timer, it's not really any wonder why most people don't bother looking any further then her bonny blue eyes – which is something that she is most definitely capable of using to her advantage.

Why? Because she's smart, very smart – in fact, she's probably the cleverest person I know. After all, it takes more than an adopted grandfather heading up Magitek Institute and a streak of ambition a mile wide to reach the rank of General by the age of eighteen – you need to be a pretty bright bulb, too.

Unfortunately, while Celes was busy snaffling the good cards from the bottom of the deck someone dealt her a personality which, it must be said, is about as blunt as your average sledgehammer. If you screw up, she'll tell you in rather graphic detail what you did wrong _and how she'd do it better_. Come to think of it, its probably that last point which explains why Celes has many admirers but only a few _real _friends – because anyone who isn't a closet masochist will give up and walk away about thirty minutes after listening to her in full 'dressing down' mode. Don't, however, mistake that for her being a nasty bit of work, because she isn't. She's, well, 'restrained' would probably be the best word to use. To see Celes laugh or cry or display any other ardent emotion is a rarity indeed, so instead what you have to do is to train yourself to look for the slight quirky smile or the pensive tapping of her fingers.

Anyway, let's press on.

Only the slight tensing of the muscles around her shoulders gave any indication that I had nearly made Celes jump out of her skin. After a moment, however, she turned around and fixed me with a Look. For a moment, we stared at each other in silence.

"Wonderfully," she said finally, in a voice that was just _dripping_ with irony.

I raised an eyebrow, "I'll assume that's a 'No, Firma, I didn't sleep well at all', then."

The general gave a slight shrug, and in the predawn gloom I noticed the sullen glint of armour, "I suppose you could say that," a slight pause, then: "I assume by your tone of voice that you didn't get a good night's sleep, either."

I exhaled through my teeth, and leaned against the wall, "Well, I had a medical lecture that didn't finish until midnight, and it was gone one by the time I managed to get to sleep."

"That's harsh," Celes lamented, "What time did Terra kick you awake at?"

"Four fifteen," I replied gloomily, "Just before she gave me a short lecture about my wind-up alarm clock."

"Really?" Celes might have smiled slightly, but I wasn't sure, "Well, the thing about wind-up alarm clocks is that they seldom work when-"

"All right, all right," I said irritably, "Very funny, Celes – anyway, where's Cid got to?"

"Where's Terra?" Celes looked up and down the corridor.

I shrugged, "Gods only know, she said she had some stuff to do and buggered off."

An amused snort floated across the corridor, "So did Cid."

There was another awkward silence, and then I decided to offer up the question that I had been dying to ask all along.

"Okay, Celes, what's the deal with Maranda?"

The awkward silence continued, but this time it seemed like Celes was carefully thinking about how to phrase her answer.

"You weren't here Monday, were you?" she said finally. Mutely, I shook my head.

"Leo dropped by with a command straight from the Emperor himself. Apparently diplomatic relations with Maranda've broken down, and so I'm supposed to oversee a punitive demonstration of our power."

"So you _are_ going to attack Maranda? Bloody hell, Celes!"

Celes' fingers rapped dully against the wall, "It's not quite what you think, Firma. General Leo drew up the logistics for me, and I've been given nearly five thousand foot soldiers to command, not counting armour and artillery. I think they want to see how good my generalship is, really."

I whistled appreciatively, "That's...a pretty hefty force."

"Mmm hmm," Celes nodded ever so slightly, "Well, just in case it _does_ get too rough, I've got a squad of Titans ready to send in at a moment's notice."

"Titans? _Titans?_" I said incredulously, "You're...you're joking, right?"

"I don't have a sense of humour, remember?" she laughed mirthlessly, "Yes, the Empire's sent some of them as well."

"Those things could probably level Maranda all by themselves," I gave her an anxious glance, "If you send them in, a lot of people're going to get killed."

"I know, Firma," Celes sighed, "I think a lot of people are going to die anyway...but, well, if we can somehow nip this insurgence in the bud then we can stop it from spreading into the lives of other innocent people…"

Celes trailed off, and I knew that she was thinking the same thought as I was; 'there are a lot of innocent people in Maranda'. Unfortunately, if the fighting ended up degenerating into a general melee throughout the city then scores upon scores of families who had had nothing to do with the civil disobedience would probably find themselves living very short and terminally exciting lives.

"Any air power?" I asked, breaking the melancholy silence, "Y'know, attack helicopters, jets...possibly some observation planes?"

"Oh, yeah, that reminds me, you hav-"

"Ah, _there_ you are," the familiar voice of Professor Cid floated down the corridor. I looked towards the voice to see him marching quickly down the corridor with Terra just a couple of steps behind.

Like most of the people thus far introduced, you should at least be familiar with the name 'Professor Cid'. You may not be aware, however, of what he looked like or even did for a living. Fortunately for you, that's exactly what we're just about to cover.

Professor Cid Chere was -at this moment in time- the head of Magitek research. This didn't really count for much, as he was basically far too nice a person to hold such a position. Under his command were the departments which had developed Magitek technology...so, basically, if it involved either magic or its technological derivative then this was the man who was overseeing it all.

However, you wouldn't exactly know it to look at him. A short, dark-haired man with runny blue eyes and a weak chin, he was not normally found in his spacious, airy office halfway up the Magitek facility, but rather down in its cavernous depths working on the very front lines of research and development. Because of this, his preferred attire was the standard Magitek red and yellow lab coat, designed primarily to prevent any of the hundreds of lethal chemicals he routinely worked with from coming into contact with his skin.

Despite the need for intense concentration and daily risk of death in his job, Professor Cid always seemed to me to be a pleasant man, if in a somewhat absent-minded sort of way. While Terra, Celes, and I were certainly one of his research projects, he had never treated us with anything but the utmost of care and respect which –come to think of it- was probably why Celes doted on him so much.

"Good morning Celes, Firma," Cid greeted us cordially, before gazing at me in a severe manner, "My memory isn't what it used to be, Firma…but I don't believe you were here last Monday. Might I ask why?"

I adopted an innocent expression, "Would you believe me if I said that I was on call for last week's night exercises?"

Cid shook his head wearily, "Firmament, I'm surprised that someone as bad at deception as you hasn't taken up telling the truth as a full time occupation. As always, your eyes are a dead giveaway."

"Would you believe me if I said it with my eyes closed?"

There was a long sigh from the professor, "Firma, I understand that your other commitments place a great deal of strain upon your time, and I also understand that this lesson may not be at the most opportune time for you. However, you cannot expect to develop your magical abilities if you fail to turn up. Do you understand?"

"Yes Professor," I replied contritely, "I'll try not to let it happen again."

You'd probably think that the phrase 'I promise it won't happen again' would be more placating given the circumstances. I don't throw the word 'promise' around lightly, though, as events may conspire to prevent me from fulfilling my pledge – and if there's one thing I hate, it's the feeling that I've not been able to keep my word.

Professor Cid gave me a look that suggested that he didn't entirely believe me, but in the end he favoured me with a small smile and a 'that's my boy' by way of encouragement.

"Where did you go, grandfather?" Celes asked. Cid turned away just in time to miss my somewhat annoyed scowl.

"What was that, my dear?" he asked Celes kindly, before something evidently clicked, "Oh, yes. I initially forgot to bring the equipment for today's lecture, so I had to go back and get it-" he gestured to Terra, who unslung a large dark object from her shoulder, "-thank you, my dear. They're really quite surprisingly heavy, and I don't like to fancy the thought of having to carry them all the way up here myself."

Celes and I exchanged a quick glance before I aired the unanswered question.

"What are 'they', exactly?" try as I might, my voice still held its surly morning edge, "Anvils? Metric weights? Hilariously small grand pianos?"

Cid smiled; "Nothing quite so impressive, Firma…why don't you open it?" he waved idly at the sack, "I think you'll find that the objects therein are rather appropriate, given your absence Monday…"

Frowning slightly, I kneeled down and peered inside the sack. From within, several fluffy white items peered straight back. Not bothering to look back up, I sighed as I stared down at Cid's small joke.

"Pillows," I said flatly, "Why in the world do we need pillows?"

There was a click as Cid inserted his key into the door, "Because –as you would've known had you turned up on Monday- today we are going to be investigating an interesting development on the front of universal magic."

"What's that?" I stood up, hefting the sack over my shoulder. Cid looked as if he had been just about to push the door wide open, but upon hearing my question he turned back with a slightly mysterious smile.

"Telekinesis," he said, quietly.

Now, this is an area where understanding is critical, as it is entirely possible to get the wrong of the stick and then you'll have nothing to do but to chew nervously on that foot you've somehow got lodged in your mouth. So, on that note, I recommend that you all take out a pad of A4 paper and pen for note-taking, 'cause I'm only gonna write this once.

When most people think about telekinesis, they think about the many dark and mystifying people who, with the help of smoke and mirrors, appear to mysteriously bend spoons and cause pens to rotate inside a glass box – and hey, that's okay, although you should be aware that it _is_ possible to bend a spoon without rubbing it vigorously between the fingers, and you can quite easily move a pen about without the aid of a conveniently placed hole. Of course, if you want to do that then you're going to have to move beyond simple trickery (which, let's face it, is pretty harmless) and into telekinesis by magic, which is most certainly _not_ harmless. I really, really suggest you throw away any previous misconceptions you had about it right now, because we're not talking about moons or stars or pretentious children with jury rigged glasses. This is magic in the blood and the bone, and it doesn't make friends easily. I warn you; if you approach this particular discipline with the attitude of 'izzy wizzy, let's get busy!' then it will eat you alive.

With that aside, not everyone with a grain of magical ability has the same aptitude in every area. Because of several unknown factors some people might be able to throw fireballs and move earth, while others may be able to influence rivers and glaciers. Some others (me) might be able to manipulate the air and weather with a fair degree of skill.

Those are all examples of 'elemental magic', and the typical rule governing this area of magic is that if you happen to be a natural with a particular element, you're not going to be able to do anything worth a damn with its somewhat arbitrary opposites. On the other hand, though, there is a small selection of spells which anyone -no matter what their elemental alignment- can be proficient at. This is what we call 'universal magic', for reasons that should be immediately obvious to all of you.

Universal magic in itself is not terribly famous, as it lacks the massive explosions and insistent crackles that have etched the more eminent forms of magic into the collective memory of humankind. Its effects seem to be far subtler; whispers in the wind, or a slight puff of flame possibly sufficient to light a candle. However, what people don't realise is that at higher levels, it is universal magic that can mend bone and flesh and call back the dearly departed, among other things.

Anyhow, telekinesis turned out to be one of the former varieties of universal magic, and it was not long before we had mastered the spell in all its glory. However, while it did transpire that while the pillows Cid brought along were very easy to manipulate, it was all but impossible to hurl a heavier object (like, say, Celes) across the room. Still, I could see that it might have some practical applications where my work was concerned, and decided to make a mental note to read up on the spell if ever I had some free time.

All too soon, however, the Magical studies lesson came to an end. While it was not exactly unusual for it to proceed well past the timetabled slot of one hour, there is surprisingly little you can do to reasonably extend a lesson whose core activity involves lobbing pillows across a small room. Still, I supposed, if I didn't have anything else to do until someone needed me somewhere then I could at least go back to bed and get in a couple hours of really hardcore snoozing.

No sooner, however, had that thought oozed its way out of my cerebrum then I felt a light hand on my shoulder. Frowning slightly, I turned to see Celes standing behind me with a small piece of heavily folded paper in her hand.

"Mmm?" my frown increased in the face of Celes' silence, "What, Celes?"

The general exhaled wearily, "I was just waiting to see if you were going to try being cordial."

"Uh, yeah; sorry, Celes," I apologised, rubbing at my sinuses, "I really haven't had enough sleep today."

"That's better," she said quietly, "I don't want to keep you long, anyway. Just…well, you asked about air support, right?"

"Hmm?" I searched my memory for the relevant conversation, and then it clicked, "Oh, right – Maranda. I heard we were required?"

"Yeah, your squadron's up," Celes shrugged, "I don't think that you'll really be necessary, but there've been mixed reports about what the Marandese have to throw at us – and some of them contain references to air power."

"I guess this is the observation job I heard about, then."

Celes had shaken her head, and wordlessly handed me the small piece of folded up paper, "You're not there to look out for enemy threats; we have people doing that already. Your job is to fly one of the reconnaissance planes with a qualified observer-"

"Terra?"

"-if you want," Celes replied shortly, "Anyway, I don't want you to get too close to anything hot, but I'll need you to be near enough to get a reasonable idea of what's going on…it's all on that bit of paper, anyway."

"What time-"

"It's all on there," she gestured to the paper, "I know you've got enough time to get some sleep, though – oh, and Firma?"

I had just been in the process of turning away, but turned back to look at her, "Yes?"

Celes favoured me with a dry smile, "Remember to wind your damn alarm clock."


	3. Chapter 2: Reign of Fire

**Chapter Two – Reign of Fire**

I did, in fact, remember to wind that damnable clockwork alarm clock, although I will admit that there're days that I sincerely wish I hadn't. Many of you have probably heard of the atrocities that happened within the ivory walls of Maranda, and maybe some of you were actually there on the ground. Well, I was there too, and believe me, those flames burned just as fiercely two hundred feet up.

Some of you might find it amazing that –what with all that Sentinel and magical training- I found sufficient hours in the day to learn how to fly well enough to be enlisted in an elite squadron like the Blue Meteors. Well, the truth of the matter is that I was trained by the Blue Meteors in the days _before_ they were known as the best in the sky, and, well, I could tell you right now why the Empire decided to spend large amounts of money in training me, but let's come to that _after_ the dust's settled, hey?

Because Maranda was halfway across the continent (and therefore quite a long way away), I knew it would take me a good three or four hours to get there. Thanks to Celes' small scrip of paper I was also aware of the fact that kick-off was around two in the afternoon, which gave me an unprecedented chance to grab another two hours sleep. After I made certain that Terra knew where we were meant to be and when, I went to go get some serious shuteye.

So it was that Terra and I arrived at the hangar of the Twenty-second Blue Meteors at eight 'o' clock sharp, ready to take off and get going for our appointment at Maranda.

Because the Imperial Air Force was just massing itself in preparation for a rather heavy assault, the flight deck was filled with people getting into the rather odd single-seater helicopters that the Imperial Air Force used. Other people were rushing around, conducting last minute safety checks or loading bombs and refitting weaponry. The whole scene was utter chaos, although there was –as always, with Imperial professionalism- a sense of order amongst it. I surveyed the morass for a few moments, before I decided to add my own particular brand of confusion to the mess.

"I'm here!" I announced brightly, holding up a hand to make sure I caught the attention of _someone_ who could tell me what to do, "I'm up! I'm on time! I'm-"

"-three minutes late, by my watch," an amused tone echoed around the side of a large jet-propeller. A few moments later, Major Anceleti wheeled himself into view.

I may be exaggerating this slightly, but I'm pretty sure my commanding officer was one of the most professional people in the Armed Forces. Despite the opportunities for getting absolutely filthy in his line of work, his uniform was always spotlessly clean and carefully pressed, and his long, snowy white hair was always tied back into a simple pony-tail. He studied us carefully for a moment before giving us a grim smile.

"I bet you're dying to know," he said, in his trademark dry tones, "Exactly why I'm in a wheelchair."

I exchanged a quick look with my sister, and nodded.

"Let's just say that it was pilot error, shall we?" Anceleti shrugged, "I don't re-"

"Pilot error?" I cut in, unable to stop myself, "_You_?"

"No, not me," Anceleti replied testily, "Look – let's say it was a mistake made by a third party and leave it at that, shall we? I suggest you go and report to Jade on the double."

"Jade?" my eyebrows knit for a moment, "Aren't you leading the-" the sentence ground to a halt as a few errant facts collided in my hindbrain, "Ah, yes. You're wheelcha-"

"Quite," Anceleti made a few shooing motions, "Get going, you two. I'm still waiting on this damn spotter plane of yours. If we're lucky, we might just have time to put the squadron insignia on it before it has to fly."

I eventually found the legs belonging to Anceleti's number two sticking out of one of the many access ports on her personalised sky-jet. From the choice of port, it was apparent that she was having some trouble getting her fire control systems working, and from the clanks, bangs, and the litany of curses emanating from the small opening, it was just as apparent that she was losing.

Suppressing a small smirk, I knelt down and calmly reported for duty. From within the port, there was a sudden, loud bang and another stream of epitaphs. A few moments later, Jade pulled herself out of the access port and gave me a chilly stare while nursing her head.

"Oh, excellent," she said ironically, "I was just wondering how my day could possibly become more frustrating – and oh!" she continued, catching sight of Terra, "Isn't that sweet? I see you've brought your dear sister to play as well!"

"Anceleti tol-" I began, but Jade was having none of it.

"I'm sure he told you a lot of things, Branford," she said sharply, "However, as you may have noticed, my sky-jet isn't operational and your spotter plane _still_ hasn't turned up, so why don't you take the initiative and get a couple of flight suits while you're waiting, eh?"

With that, she pulled herself back into the vent with more force then was probably necessary, resulting in another loud bang and a somewhat metallic 'see what you made me do?' from inside the sky-jet.

I gave my sister a wry smile, "Well, I suppose we'd better do as she says."

Terra nodded silently, although she seemed to be trying to conceal a smirk.

"What?" I asked curiously, as I turned away to find the flight suits.

"Nothing, really," she replied lightly, falling into line beside me as we crossed the flight deck again, "She hasn't changed a bit since the last time I saw her, that's all."

While my flight suit was hanging up in my locker, it took us a fair amount of time to find a garment that would fit Terra without completely swamping her. Eventually, I located a fairly musty suit wadded up at the bottom of a pile, and a few seconds later I found its matching helmet. Terra wrinkled her nose slightly as I passed them up to her, but clambered into them without comment.

"Ready, Tee?" I asked, slipping easily into my suit and cramming on my helmet, "We should probably go and see if they've managed to turn up a reconnaissance plane yet."

Terra's helmet bobbed slightly, "I'm ready. Oh- and Firma?" she added as I turned to leave, "Please, please, _please_ keep the acrobatics to a minimum, okay? I'm not going to be able to record very much if I throw up all over my recorder."

Happily, the Blue Meteors _had_ managed to cook up a reconnaissance jet in the interim. It stood alone in the middle of the hanger; its slim, graceful form looking decidedly out of place amongst the hulking helicopters. Flight technicians swarmed over the gleaming white carapace, fiddling with small details while a paint team sprayed the squadron insignia on to the side.

Anceleti, who had been overseeing the operation from his throne of power, waved us over, and gestured once at the plane as we came closer.

"You're a lucky one today, Firmament," he said in his dry tones as I stared onwards at the plane, "The reason why they took so long in getting your reconnaissance plane over here is because they decided to send us the latest and greatest," he turned to give the plane another approving look, "Meet the Wriqurix-class high performance reconnaissance platform."

"That's quite a name," I frowned slightly, staring once again at the sleek lines of the Wriqurix, "Y'know, it actually looks vaguely familiar."

"No doubt," Anceleti snorted, "It's basically the second generation of the technology they used to make the Quicksilver Wraith."

"Oh," I said flatly, "Um...that's the one that exploded, wasn't it?"

"Actually, it was its sister plane – but don't worry," Anceleti assured me, "They've ironed out a few of the problems."

"Does that include the one that made it explode?" Terra's eyebrows went up.

"Tee's got a point," I added, "That's a pretty big problem."

"Stop complaining, both of you," Anceleti admonished us, "Besides, I don't think somehow they'd let _you_ fly in it if there was the faintest chance of it breaking up in midair…anyway-" he said, looking over towards where a small crowd appeared to be gathering, "-it looks like Jade's just about to go over what you're meant to be doing, so I suggest you go over there and listen in."

I'm going to spare you _that_ particular joy, not only because we'll be going into more relevant briefings later, but because I'd like to move past this particular memory as fast as humanely possible. It's not pleasant, and while it has a _certain_ amount of relevance (okay, it has a _lot_ of relevance) there's only so long that I can go on about things catching fire before I start to get bored.

Anyway -if you'll recall- Celes mentioned that there had been several references made to the Marandese defence force possessing some small form of air power. While it was generally believed that this air power probably amounted to a couple of retooled crop dusters, there was a certain amount of pressure on my superiors to provide cover just in case someone tried to drive an explosive-laden prop-plane into a host of Imperial troops.

Fortunately, the job of catching kamikaze farmers wasn't _my_ job. At eighteen, I was really too young to be trusted with anything that could go bang outside of carefully controlled environments – instead, it was my job to fly Terra around so she could take notes about how the Marandese were responding to being worked over by the Imperial Army, just in case they needed another kicking sometime down the road.

"Any questions?" Jade asked, upon the completion of her quick briefing, "No? Well, it should be fairly simple. If we just stay alert for any tricks that Maranda may have up its sleeve, then we shouldn't have any problems…" her sharp gaze scythed over the assembled pilots, "Okay, everyone. Let's get out there and raise hell!"

"One of these days she's going to learn that talking in clichés isn't particularly inspiring," I muttered to Terra as we walked quickly towards the waiting Wriqurix. My sister shrugged non-committally in response, before raising a point that had obviously been troubling her.

"What did she mean by 'tricks' exactly?" Terra quizzed.

"Big bad things of an explosive nature, I would assume," I said, shrugging, "Probably nothing to worry about. I mean-" I placed one firm foot on the first rung of the ladder leading to my cockpit, "-if Maranda actually _did_ have anything like that, I'm sure Imperial Intelligence would've picked up on it."

A snort from beneath me indicated Terra's opinion of Imperial Intelligence, and I smiled as I scrambled up the ladder into the forward seat. I quickly buckled myself up as a couple of thuds from behind me announced my sister's ascension.

"Better buckle up, Tee," I said, running my fingers over the controls to familiarise myself, "We're unarmed, but someone might end up picking on us anyway."

"You have no idea how much better that makes me feel," Terra replied dryly, and there were a couple of clicks as she slid her restraints home, "We ready to go, then?"

"Got everything you need?" I asked quickly, running through a last-minute checklist, "Got your recorder?"

There was a rattling noise as Terra shook the object in question, "Yeah, but it looks like they've got one built into the plane itself-" there was a click, and another click, "-yep. How's that for technology, eh?"

"Amazing," I replied flatly, "At least it means you won't drop the bloody – ow!"

Terra had lightly batted me on the top of my helmet, "Just get us going, Firma," she said lightly, "Before you end up cutting yourself with that overly smart tongue of yours."

Sending a mildly irritated thought out to any listening deity, I reached out and depressed the radio's talk button.

"This is Blue Five to Control," I said, speaking crisply and clearly, "We're ready to depart."

"This is Control to Blue Five," the amused voice of Anceleti rang through the plane, "Wait your bloody turn. We'll radio you when you can go."

I leaned back with a small 'hah', "Looks like we've been more efficient than the rest of 'em, then."

"With you around, that _is_ a feat to be proud of," Terra replied tartly, settling back into her seat, "What do we do now?"

I followed suit, "Wait for the launch command, I suppose. I'd imagine they don't really want to put the non-combat ship into the sky first, especially when it's loaded with a couple of Mage Knights."

Over the course of the next five minutes, we watched with growing impatience as the sky-jets around us came to life and glided off into the morning's sky.

"I'm telling you," I said irritably, half-turning in my seat to look at Terra, "Every time I turn up _on_ time I end up sitting around cooling my heels for ages while they scramble around trying to attend to everyone else's problems."

Through the tinted visor I thought I saw Terra's eyebrows go up, "Have you ever considered that they might be punishing you for the hundreds of times that you haven't turned up on ti-"

She was interrupted by the harsh crackle of the radio, "Blue Five, this is Control. You're cleared to launch."

"Maybe," I replied vaguely to Terra before turning back to the radio, "Roger that, Control. We'll see you later."

With a single smooth motion, I released the talk button and brought my fingers down to the first start-up sequence. Immediately, lights that had been previously dark flared to life, and a wave of green began to march steadily across the board.

"All green," I nodded to myself, "All of yours checking out, Tee?"

"Looks like it," my sister chirped, "Oh, wait – one appears to be re…no, wait, I understand now. Everything's working back here."

"Good-oh," I said, and flicked up the catch to activate the engines, "Let's get going."

There was a terrific roar as the engines blazed with barely-restrained actinic power, and the Wriqurix began to roll steadily through the exit of the hanger and onto the airstrip itself.

"Remember," Terra said, "You promised that you wouldn't do any acrobatics."

I frowned slightly as I placed my hand on the throttle, "I don't remember promising that, in fact, I'm pretty damn sure I-"

The remainder of my statement was cut off by the howl of the engines as they were brought fully to bear. The sun glinted lightly off the silvery wings of the Wriqurix as it thundered down the strip, leaving in its wake a thin trail of moisture. At the last moment, I pulled back hard on the stick and let the plane take to the skies, out across the forests surrounding Vector. The day appeared to be turning out fine, and I brought the Wriqurix into a series of leisurely upwards spirals through clear skies as I got my bearings and located my hovering squadron.

"This is Lead to Five," presently, Jade's irritated voice came over the radio, "Branford, why are you taking so long?"

"Just familiarising myself, Lead," I replied honestly, "I've never flown this type of plane before. 'Sides, I think it would be better to give it a good warm up before I have to do anything drastic with it."

There was a long silence from the other end of the radio.

"Fair enough," Jade said eventually, "Anyway, I've just received new instructions from the ground. You're to break formation with us and head to Maranda on your own-"

"One moment, Lead," I frowned, "What if we're attacked en route? I can fly, but we don't have anything to fight with."

There was what sounded like an exasperated sigh from Jade, "Attacked by what, Five? There's nowhere between here and Maranda that opposes the Empire, and -as I was just about to say- if you hang back when you reach Maranda then you'll be safe enough. Now, do you copy?"

I nodded, realising a moment later that she couldn't see me, "I copy, Lead. I, uh, I guess we'll see you at Maranda."

I released my finger from the radio button with a sharp jerk and turned to my sister.

"What was that all about?" I frowned at Terra, "What's the deal with the sudden change in plan?"

"Maybe they just decided that it would be too much trouble for you to keep pace with the rest of the flight group," Terra said absently, and pointed out the canopy, "We _are_ leaving them in the dust, after all."

"Hmm," I shook my head, "I don't like this at all. Why didn't they tell us when we were on the ground?"

"You think something stinks?" Terra snorted, "You're getting paranoid in your old age."

"I _know_ something stinks," I shook my head, "I'm going to talk to Anceleti when we get back. There's something really wrong going on here...but anyway, you may as well get some sleep. It's going to be a long, lonely trip to Maranda."

Terra was silent for a moment as she stared down at the continent spread beneath us, "I don't think I could sleep right now, Firma. Not with a view like this, anyway."

I smiled slightly, "Believe me, it might be beautiful now, but I'm willing to bet that it'll pall in an hour or so."

"Well, maybe I'll get some sleep then!" Terra flared suddenly, "Shouldn't you be concentrating on keeping this thing level?"

"It seems to be quite capable of doing that itself, actually," I shrugged, "Are you worried about Maranda, Tee?"

"It was that obvious, eh?" my sister replied dryly, "Yeah – I mean, there's a lot of people in Maranda who I really don't think care about whether it secedes from the Empire or not…but they're going to get caught up in this no matter what."

"I know," I said quietly, quickly casting my eyes over the instruments, "I was thinking about the same thing just before Magical Studies. I can't believe that Celes would order Maranda purged, though."

"What if Celes doesn't get a choice, though?" Terra shot back, "She's only eighteen. Most of the soldiers in this battle are going to be older then her, and what if she loses control of them? What if they decide to go on a rampage for the 'greater glory of the Empire' and start killing innocent civilians, or something?"

I was rendered silent for a moment by the unexpected vehemence in Terra's voice. Finally, I sighed and climbed a little further into the sky.

"I don't know, Tee," I said, "I really don't. Why don't you get back to admiring the view instead of worrying about something that hasn't happened yet?"

There was an unhappy murmur behind me, but when I half-turned to look Terra appeared to be gazing down towards the snow-capped peaks off to our left, oblivious to anything but the beauty beneath.

To be fair to Terra, I had been worrying about pretty much the same thing for most of the day, which probably explains why I was so short with her in the end. Still, I think that at this point any further exposition into what happened at Maranda will be fairly pointless, so let's instead take a quick look at the Southern Continent. It's not as if it exists anymore, so I'm going to include a little footnote about it here for the purposes of posterity.

I'm not going to insult anyone's intelligence by checking to see if you know which hemisphere the Southern Continent was in, but I will say that it was essentially an Imperial state. While there had originally been three other distinct regions of power, each centred in its own city –those cities being Tzen, Maranda, Albrook- they had been ruthlessly and methodically crushed one after the other by some megalomaniac Emperor a long time ago. Taking on three other states and coming out on top is quite a feat in itself, and it's even more impressive when you consider the topography of the landmass.

I'm going to be euphemistic when I say that the Southern Continent was 'a touch varied'. In reality, just about every single environ you can think of was represented in some form somewhere on the continent. Vector itself was almost entirely surrounded by forests and mountains, while Albrook was almost right on top of one of the harshest deserts in the world. Maranda was the proud owner of almost one hundred square miles of swamps, and Tzen…well, Tzen was unfortunate enough to be almost directly between Vector's gargantuan mountains and the second-largest plains on the continent. As a result, the weather wasn't so much unpleasant as downright homicidal.

However, the upshot of all having such varied terrain was that by the time the continent was under Imperial rule the Imperial Army had become _very good _at fighting on landscapes that weren't just grass and rolling hills. If you want proof of this; take a look at any book regarding military tactics down at your library – if it's about fighting on unusual grounds, then the chances are better than even that it was either written by an ex-Imperial or cites several as sources.

The famous marbled walls of Maranda gleamed brightly in the winter's sun, but not quite so brilliantly as the burnished metal armour of the Imperial forces arrayed against the city. Stretching across the plains, legions of Imperials waited silently in rigid formation beside the low, hulking forms of the most powerful tanks ever devised by Imperial engineers. Behind them, and casting a shadow across the rest of the army, were the immense forms of the Titan-class Magitek armour.

"That's a Titan, eh?" I muttered, bringing the Wriqurix into long swoop towards the waiting Imperial army, "Never seen one of those before."

I have to admit that I was impressed. Standing thirty feet tall and covered in thick, shimmering armour, the dazzling bipedal tanks easily towered over the rest of the army. For some reason, my gaze was drawn inexorably towards the massive cannons slung either side of the heavily-shielded cockpit. I had seen Magitek weaponry before but never on such a massive scale, and I was suddenly very, very aware that even one of those Titans would probably be capable of levelling the Marandese front lines without too much effort.

"Apparently they're a big improvement over the Golems," Terra said quietly, coming to with a long yawn, "They say they're unstoppable by anything except another Titan."

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough, won't we," I replied darkly, "Why haven't they started yet, though? What is Celes waiting on?"

As I spoke reflected sunlight far below caught my eye, and I looked down to see the long barrels of an artillery battery raise menacingly into the air. There were a series of brilliant flashes as they discharged, followed a moment later by deep, resounding retorts.

"What was that?" Terra sounded startled, and then there was a long silence in the plane as we watched the artillery shells impact on the ivory walls. Suddenly, the wall vanished underneath a cloud of deep, angry red flame and pieces of masonry were flung high into the air as the walls collapsed inwards, with a tremendous sound of collapsing masonry.

That was obviously the signal to start the battle, as from below there came the familiar rumbling noise of the armoured columns starting their engines. Maintaining perfect formation, the low-slung hulking forms of the Imperial machinery began rolling towards the ruined walls, flanked on all sides by legions of Imperial infantry.

"Right Tee, it looks like battle's been joined," I said grimly, kicking the Wriqurix into a low swooping dive and dropping in above the advancing infantry, "You might want to start taking notes."

"Wait, what?" Terra took a sharp inbreath, "What about the Blue Meteors? Where's Jade?"

"They'll still be miles away – I mean, we only just made it," I paused, and then hissed through my teeth, "Celes is being rash, isn't she. Maybe she's decided that Maranda doesn't have any air power after all."

The ivory city never really stood a chance, but it was obvious that it was going to be damned if it wasn't going down swinging. While the city's walls now lay in ruins strewn halfway across the plains, it appeared that the artillery hadn't been quite so successful in eradicating the defenders or their fortified emplacements. Moving quickly, several small groups of blue-caped Marandans began to shift their own heavy artillery up to their side of the destroyed wall.

"Shouldn't we tell Celes about them?" Terra asked.

"What makes you think she doesn't already know?" I replied, "I'm sure that there're plenty of people getting messages to her some way or another. We're here to observe, not tell her what's going on."

"Hmm," Terra said, the uncertainty evident in her voice. There was a moment of silence, before Terra activated the onboard recorder with a click and began to take down information about the defender's emplacements.

By this point, the foot soldiers had dropped back behind the speeding mechanised infantry, and as I watched the tanks increased their speed yet further, racing across the plains towards the enemy front lines. There was a brilliant flash from one of the Marandese guns and one of the armoured cars erupted in a massive fireball, and in response the barrels of two Imperial tanks swivelled to face the gun. There was a pair of deep, resonating thuds, and a moment later it vanished under a cloud of fire and smoke as the crews avenged their comrades.

"Well, here we go," Terra sighed, and we watched silently as the two sides proceeded to unload salvo after salvo at one another, rapidly reducing city walls and field alike into a pockmarked, rubble-strewn sea of mud, "I suppose that the Marandese were never going to make it easy for us."

"Why should they?" I asked harshly, "If that Marandese force down there turned up at IAF Wareydon, would you just let them take it?"

"If the alternative was dying uselessly? Yes!" Terra retorted, "What's the point of posturing like this? All those Marandese separatists down there are about five minutes from being shot to ribbons and then what? Everything goes back to how it was before except a couple of hundred extra dead? This assault is so...oh, godsdamnit - it's so _pointless!_"

The silence in the plane was palpable, broken only by the occasional deep 'thud' as a particularly large explosion rocked the battlefield below.

"Well, gee, Tee," I said eventually, "I hope that you remembered to switch your recorder off during your little spiel, 'cause I'm sure Celes would just _love_ to hear your views. Besides, it looks like the Marandese don't agree with you, either."

As I spoke the blue-caped defenders began pouring out of several large buildings near the remnants of the wall. Some seemed to be carrying rifles, while others still were wielding hefty-looking anti-tank rifles. Moving quickly and efficiently, they quickly took cover behind the destroyed architecture and added their strength to the defence of the city.

"Ooh, smart," I nodded grudgingly, "I suppose Celes can't just bury them all with artillery now that all our troops and their troops are mixed together. Our light armour's stuffed, too."

Fortunately, someone on the ground had come to the same conclusion that I had, and as I watched the armoured cars and halftracks that had formed the vanguard quickly peeled apart and pulled back, leaving a breach into which poured battalions of heavy Imperial tanks looking for a fight. There was a short, sharp exchange of anti-tank shells and withering machinegun fire before the defenders broke and fled back into the city.

"See? Totally pointless," Terra said shortly, "They just got trounced, and all they have to show for it is a lot of dead bodies."

"This is where it's going to get messy, though," I pointed out, "They can't just flatten Maranda; Celes is going to have to send her troops into all those buildings to make sure that there aren't any clever buggers waiting to ambush the armour. I bet that area's wired from hell to breakfast with all kinds of nasty little traps, too."

"I suppose you're right," Terra sighed, "I wonder how Celes is going to respond to this..."

"Mmm...," I nodded in agreement, but then I noticed a sudden change in the layout of the army, "Wait – Tee, are those Titans moving?"

As I watched the Titan division began to form up into an aggressive wedge formation pointing straight for the heart of Maranda, and with a sudden puff of dust they began a slow, ponderous march towards the city.

"Looks like it," she replied slowly, "I guess we'll get to see what they're capable of, now. I just want to know why Celes didn't send them in earlier - she could've avoided getting all those tank crews killed."

"Well, those things _are_ Magitek," I pointed out, "If one of those goes up, then it'll go _up_...and it'll probably take Celes' career with it. I guess she wanted to make sure that all their really big guns were out of the way...y'know, in case someone got lucky."

"Huh!" there was a click from the back as Terra started her recording, "The Titans appear to be within firing ran- oh my _word!_"

The Titan's attack was suitably impressive. There was a momentary pause while the massive tanks redirected power to their main guns, and then with a series of crackling discharges they vented their full wrath upon the garrisoned buildings near the walls. Colossal beams of blue, red, and yellow blasted clean through the thick stone, effortlessly lifting the masonry high into the air. An abandoned anti-tank gun vanished under a rolling wave of incandescent flame, and when it had passed there was little left but a puddle of molten metal and a few pieces of shattered charcoal.

The assault by the Titans signalled the end for Maranda. With the majority of the outer defences destroyed, it was simplicity itself for the waiting Imperial infantry to swarm the hapless Marandese defenders under and claim the walls for themselves. With the walls themselves taken, the tanks were free to move into the city and begin taking apart the scattered resistance. Before long, the city was all aflame.

"Well," I said sadly, watching the smoke billowing out from the city, "There goes Maranda."

"I think I've probably done everything I need to," Terra said quietly, reacting to the tone of my voice, "If you want, you can see if we can withdraw."

Giving the burning city another dispirited glance, I reached for the radio's talk button. Before I could reach it, however, the radio gave a sudden crackle of its own.

"Blue Five?" the voice of an eager-sounding Imperial hissed across the airwaves, "Command to Blue Five, are you receiving me?"

I took a deep breath to calm my jumpy nerves before reaching for the button again, "This is Blue Five," I said, more sharply then I intended, "What do you want?"

There was a moment's silence before the Imperial replied, "One moment, Blue Five. I'm just transferring you to General Chere."

"What was that?" Terra stirred suddenly from her pensive reverie, "What does Celes want with us?"

"Beats me," I shrugged, "Got to be something pretty important, though."

"I'm su-" Terra began, but was immediately cut off by Celes' sharp tones.

"Blue Five, this is Command," the General began, "We have a...minor situation unfolding here."

"Ma'am?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"We've lost radio contact with one of the Titans," Celes said in a rather strained voice, "We need you to go and find out what's happened to it."

"Where was it last seen?" I asked, exchanging a wearying look with Terra.

"Over on the far side of the city," Celes replied immediately, "Near the hospital."

"The hospital?" I asked, feeling a vague sense of foreboding scrabble at my insides, "Right, ma'am, we'll take a look."

Sighing, I took my finger off the talk button and brought the engines back online. With a protesting howl the powerful jets came back to life, hurling us onwards over the Imperial rearguard and into the city itself.

"Keep an eye out for that thirty foot Titan, could you?" I asked Terra irritably, "How in the bloody world could she bloody misplace a thirty foot bloody Titan? More to the point-" I added, as we flew deeper into the city, "How in the world are we meant to see _anything _in this smoke?"

It was quite obvious that the Imperial army had been dead set on making an example of Maranda. Once graceful, tree-lined avenues were now covered in smouldering rubble and the broken remnants of mighty oaks. Flames guttered from every window, sending thick, choking smoke high into the sky almost like some kind of dark beacon. Everywhere we looked Maranda's renowned beauty had been torn down and crushed underfoot by the brutal force of the Imperial Army.

Still, there was one building that stood tall amongst the fires and the smoke. Although its once chalk-white walls had been stained a sooty grey by the rising columns of smoke, Maranda Hospital rose up defiantly through the rubble.

"Well, there's the hospital," I said, feeling slightly cheered that the Imperial Army hadn't destroyed it in a fit of exuberance, "Now, where's this damn Titan?"

"Just over there," Terra said, pointing with a single gloved finger, "No, Firma – over _there_."

Following her finger, I quickly caught sight of the runaway Titan stomping merrily across the rubble. It certainly appeared to be okay, aside the odd dent on its thick armour, and to be honest I couldn't possibly see any reason why it would have lost radio contact.

"The antenna's still there," Terra sounded just as baffled, "There isn't any damage anywhere near the radio, either. The only way the radio could have gone offline is if the pilot had…switched it off."

"That doesn't make much sense," I raised an eyebrow, "Still; I suppose we'd better tell Celes we've found the blasted thing."

Before I could contact Celes, however, Terra grabbed my arm, "Wait, Firma," she said quietly, "Look where it's headed…"

Feeling that slight scrabbling of foreboding once more, I gave the Titan another glance and followed its route to its logical conclusion. Suddenly, I felt my stomach yawn open as I realised what building was in its sights.

"It-it's going for the hospital!" I gasped, "It-it's-how can it…_why_?"

Unfortunately, Celes chose the worst possible moment to check up on our progress, and I nearly lacerated myself on my restraints as I jumped clear out of my seat.

"This is Command," her voice buzzed through the radio, "Have you made any headway on locating the missing Titan?"

For a long, long moment I stared at the radio, trying to sooth my panicky emotions and come up with a measured reply.

"I repeat," the radio buzzed again, "Blue Five, have you made an-"

"Yes, Celes!" I snapped, stabbing my finger down on the transmit button, "We've found your damn Titan! It's-"

There was a sudden click as my radio went dead, and I realised with a jolt that Terra had smoothly cut me out of the loop.

"This is, um, Five, General," she said in a calm and measured voice, "You'll have to excuse Firma, but the missing Titan is currently moving to attack the hospital."

"It's doing _what?_" Celes exclaimed, and there was an obvious pause as she collected her thoughts, "Okay, hang on."

There was another click as the radio went dead, leaving Terra and I to watch the Titan draw closer to the hospital.

"There's got to be something we can do," I said numbly, "Sure-mayb-possibly there's…"

Distantly, I felt Terra touch my shoulder, "There's nothing we can do, Firma. We're in an unarmed aircraft, and we don't have any magic powerful enough to breach that monster's armour. It's all going to be up to Celes."

"Where are the Blue Meteors?" I asked suddenly, twisting in my seat to look straight at Terra, "Where's our damned air support? Firstly they go missing, and now this Titan's going on the rampage! What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Terra shook her head, "I don't know, Firma…"

The radio clicked again, "This is Command," Celes stated, and underneath the calm, professional veneer I thought I detected a hint of unease, "Blue Five, get out of there."

I took a sharp breath, "What? But-"

"That's an _order_, Five," she snapped, "We've just lost contact with the other Titans. There's something very dangerous going on here, and I don't want you two anywhere where a rebel Titan can take a pot-shot at you."

"But…what about the hospital, ma'am?" I pressed, "What about all the people inside?"

There was a long, long pause, then, "I'm sorry, Five. Now get out of there."

"But-"

"_Now_, Five," Celes snapped, "I'm ordering a general evacuation of everyone in Maranda while we try and deal with these Titans. Your services are no longer required."

I gave the defenceless hospital ahead of me an anguished look, before silently kicking in the jets and pulling the Wriqurix around in a tight turn.

"Go home, Firma," Celes finished quietly, "Command out."

Not trusting myself to reply, I throttled up the engines and tried not to look around me as I cruised slowly away from the city. Feeling numb inside, I rose to an altitude well out of the range of the Titan's guns and set a bearing for Vector.

From far below, there was a distant flash and a loud boom as the Titan unleashed its fury on the hospital. Watching through blurry eyes, I saw the windows blow out into tiny, glittering shards that reflected the brilliant winter sun. Flames roared out of the empty panes, staining the already sooty masonry a deep, charcoal boom. There was another deep, resonant boom and then the hospital fell in on itself, engulfing the Titan in a sudden cloud of dust.

"Firma…" Terra said softly, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. I took a deep breath, and reoriented the Wriqurix towards our hometown.

I remained silent all the way back to Vector.


	4. Chapter 3: Night Terrors

Chapter Three – Night Terrors 

Well that's that, then. There's plenty more that could be said about the destruction of Maranda, but I'm not the person to say it – if only for the simple reason that I wasn't around at the finish. If you want to know more about how the city was mullered by the Imperial army, then go and find another book on the subject. As far as I'm concerned it hardly ranks amongst my Top Ten Happy Memories, so if you don't mind I'd like to get this literary train wreck back on the rails as fast as possible.

Day had given way to night by the time the Wriqurix crested the last mountain between Vector and us. The sky was almost completely clear, and the full moon shone brightly down on the forests surrounding Vector, giving the snow-covered treetops a pale, almost ghostly look. Staring bitterly at the harsh city lights still far away, I dropped the Wriqurix into a steep dive and levelled off just above the tallest trees.

Barring a few tentative attempts to strike up a conversation, my sister had been quiet throughout the entire trip back. Although I knew that she was simply trying to keep both our minds off the tragic events of Maranda, the images of the burning city and the collapsing hospital were still too fresh in my mind to dismiss with idle chitchat. I was going to need some time to sit back and think about everything that had happened before I was willing to talk about it.

"Firma?" Terra said quietly from the back of the plane, "Shouldn't you be requesting landing permission? We're getting kind of close to-"

"I know exactly where we are, Tee, and I'll request landing permission in my own time, thank you very much!" I snarled in return, before bending over my instruments and studiously ignoring the hurt silence radiating from the rear of the plane. We flew in uncomfortable silence through the ethereal skies while I brought my careening emotions back under control enough to regret my outburst.

"I'm sorry, Tee," I said finally, in a more normal tone of voice, "You didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't," Terra replied crossly, but then she softened her tone, "It's okay, though. It's been a rough day."

"That's the gods' own truth," I muttered ruefully as I reached for the radio, "Anyway, I'd better request clearance."

As seemed to happen so often that day, the radio crackled before I could reach the talk button, "This is Landing Control to Blue Five," the indistinct but recognisable voice of Major Anceleti hissed through the speakers, "Firma, is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" I growled.

Thankfully, Anceleti decided to let that comment go, "What happened at Maranda, anyway? We've been getting a whole mixed bag of reports here."

"It was a victory for the Empire..." Terra spoke up sadly, "Maranda isn't going to be a threat to Vector for a long time."

"Especially not with those rogue Titans stamping up and down the city," I chimed in angrily, "What happened to the Blue Meteors, Anceleti? If Jade and company had turned up on time, then…" I took a deep, trembling breath.

There was a long silence from the other side of the radio, and then Anceleti replied in a carefully neutral tone, "Terra, Firma, I don't want to hear any more of this across the airwaves, understand? I'm going to give you landing clearance for Runway Three, okay? Come to my office immediately, understand?"

There was a sudden click as Anceleti signed off. Blinking in surprise, I turned slightly to see my sister staring at me with perplexity written all over her face.

"Something big is going on here, Firma," she breathed quietly, "Did you hear the worry in Major Anceleti's voice?"

"Yeah," I nodded once, slowly, "I guess we'd better go and find out what he wants."

The moon was shining brightly enough to see the airstrip without landing lights, but as I approached the yellow and red bulbs winked into existence regardless. With a cheerless smile I throttled down the engines and banked up slightly, allowing the Wriqurix to come down quietly on the rear wheels first. There was a slight squeak as the front wheel made contact with the ground, and then we were rolling speedily along the runway towards the dilapidated hangar of the Blue Meteors. As we approached, I quickly applied the brakes and allowed the plane to come to a halt just outside the light-filled warehouse that held the squadron's whirlybirds.

"Where's the ground crew?" I asked tensely, "There's no one here 'cept Anceleti?"

"I don't know," Terra sounded no less edgy, "Let's just be careful, okay?"

Nodding firmly, I quickly undid my restraints and popped the canopy, allowing the chill winter's air to enter the cockpit. Clambering out onto the wing, I motioned to Terra to follow suit before leaping gracefully to the tarmac.

The night was almost completely silent, despite our proximity to Vector. A quiet, cold wind soughed across the airstrip, ruffling the nearby clumps of grass and whistling sadly over the wings of the Wriqurix. The diffuse glow of the moon shone down, glinting dully off my plane's armour and infusing the nearby runway with a soft, ghostly sheen. Giving the shadows a quick, wary glance, I helped Terra down from the wing of the plane before setting off inside to find Major Anceleti.

As Terra and I crossed the threshold of the hangar doors, the immediate sensation I got was one of total, oppressive silence. While normally the air dock would be filled at all hours with ground crew running around like madmen, tonight the sky-jets stood idle in ordered rows. Shivering slightly in the chill, I led my sister between the sky-jets towards the stairs that would take us up to the Major's office.

Terra _was_ definitely right, I decided. Something very big had happened at Maranda, perhaps bigger than the city itself being totalled. I was obviously missing a piece, but it seemed to me like the entire Imperial Army was suddenly holding its breath. Even here, in this dilapidated hanger as far away from HQ as one could get, I could practically taste the electric anticipati-

There was a harsh _bang_ noise from two sky-jets over, and if it weren't for Terra's sudden restraining hand I would have leapt clean out of my suit. A moment later the noise was repeated, this time accompanied by a rasping cry of pain or anger.

"That's Jade's voice!" I hissed to Terra, who nodded silently in response. Without wasting any more words on the issue, we quickly stepped between the next column of sky-jets and emerged to find a haggard-looking Jade assaulting her sky-jet with a spanner. Tears were streaming down her face, and with another furious cry she brought the tool around and slammed it into the thick armour, adding another dent to the multitude already on display.

"Jade!" I said sharply, "Hey, Jade!"

"Sssh!" Terra cut in, and began walking calmly towards the flight officer, "Jade? Please, give me the spanner."

Jade didn't appear to have heard her, and with another shout brought the spanner down on the glass windshield. There was a sharp noise, and when the spanner came away there was a spidery mess of cracks left in its place.

"Jade," Terra said softly, and took the spanner gently in her left hand, "Jade, listen to me."

Once again, Jade attempted to wallop the beleaguered sky-jet with the wrench, but almost vaulted over backwards when Terra's grip didn't budge. Apparently not entirely sure of where she was, the distraught woman blinked and spent a few moments studying the visored Terra's face before a light came on behind her eyes.

"It's you two," she said harshly, "I guess you've just gotten back from it all, haven't you."

"Yeah..." I said slowly, "Jade-"

"Don't you 'Jade' me, Firmament!" Jade's voice suddenly acquired a lot more snarl, "You were there – you two, of all people, could have done something! Those Titans went nuts, and all you could do was turn and flee? Some good you are!"

"Hey!" I felt my temper begin to spark again, "We were ordered out of the combat-"

"Firma," Terra cut me off quietly, "Jade, what are you doing here? Why are you..." she gestured towards the sky-jet with the hand still holding the spanner.

"Why do you think?" Jade laughed humourlessly, "It might have something to do with the whole squadron being ordered back to base without a good reason, and then those fiends in the Titan's levelling the entire city! We could have stopped them if we were there!"

There was a very nearly audible 'click' in my mind, "Yeah, you probably could have done..." I turned to my sister, "Tee-"

"I know, Firma. Be quiet," she replied sharply, and looked back at Jade, "Look, there wasn't anything you could have done. You didn't know-"

"Do you think that matters?" Jade spat, "Oh, just go away, Terra...you'll never understand!"

"But-"

"I said _go away_!" the flight officer screamed, causing me to back up almost involuntarily, "Anceleti wants to see you. Don't keep him waiting!"

It took all of two minutes to drag my protesting sister up the creaking metal stairs to the mezzanine where Anceleti's simple office was. Doing my best to ignore the various crashes, bangs, and hoarse shouts of pain and anger from down below, I leaned close to the door and knocked quietly.

Eventually, a calm, measured 'come in' came from within. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned the rusty handle and forced the ill-fitting, protesting door backwards into the room.

Anceleti's office was, as one might expect, a shrine to Spartan professionalism. The largest piece of furniture in the room was an uncluttered fold-up desk, accompanied by a couple of similarly unadorned foldings chairs. The floor and walls were bare, aside from a few shelves containing a couple of books and a few obviously hand-made models. Anceleti himself was, of course, sitting on the far side of his desk apparently buried deep in some report or similar. After a moment of awkward silence, however, he looked up and gestured us forwards.

"I told you to come in," his soft voice, now that I had a chance to listen closely, definitely had an angry edge that wasn't there this morning, "Don't stand there cluttering up the doorway."

"Sorry, Anceleti," we chorused, before entering the room and taking the only available chairs. The Major spent a few moments finishing off the page of whatever it was he was reading before laying it down carefully on the desk.

"First things first," Anceleti said softly, "I don't want either of you to think any the worse of Jade for what you...may have seen down there," he paused, and took a deep breath, "I'll be blunt; her parents...well, they just moved to Maranda, and it's more than likely that they were killed in the attack."

There had been a gasp from Terra, and I sat back numbly, whispering 'Oh, no.' as I did so.

"Exactly," Anceleti pinned us both with an intense gaze, "I'm going to say it here and now; don't attempt to help Jade, either of you. For now, the best you can do is to leave her alone – besides, you have a much bigger problem on your hands," with this, he put both hands on the desk and leaned forwards, "I want you two to listen to me very, very carefully, okay? I'll answer any questions you may have, on the condition that when we're done here you go back to your barracks and _stay_ _there_. You've probably already realised that something very big and potentially very dangerous has just been set in motion, and I want you two out of it as much as possible. Do you understand?"

There was a long silence in the wake of his statement, punctuated only by another distant shout and a resounding 'boing' of metal being struck, hard.

"Do you understand?" Anceleti repeated intently. I exchanged a worried look with my sister, before swallowing hard and nodding once.

"Good," the Major said, and settled back into his wheelchair, "Now, I'm pretty sure that you know why Jade's squadron never made it to Maranda, don't you."

"They were ordered back, weren't they," Terra stated flatly, "Someone with the authority to order them to return to base called them back so...they couldn't damage the Titans."

"That's about the long and short of it, yeah," Anceleti smiled humourlessly at my sister, "The missiles that we generally ship out with are more than enough to put a large hole in a Titan, if you're good enough to avoid being crisped at the same time."

"Mmm, but wait…" I shook my head, "I don't get it, though. Why order them back? Who could possibly want to burn a city filled with innocent people to the ground?"

"I think you know, don't you," Anceleti said darkly, and looked across at Terra, "Your sister does."

I looked at the Major, then at Terra, and then back at the Major again. Finally, a single name dropped into my mind, and my eyes narrowed.

"It was Kefka, wasn't it," I said quietly.

"Either him or someone associated with him," Anceleti nodded, "That's why I want you to be so careful."

"Okay, fine – I still don't get it. What does Kefka possibly have to gain from doing this?" I gave the Major a quizzical look, "As far as I can see, he'll just be court-martialed and executed."

Terra muttered something under her breath in response.

"What did you say, Tee?" I asked suspiciously.

"She said 'I doubt it', if you're wondering – and she's right," Anceleti's lips pressed together into a fine line, "You won't find a court who'll convict Kefka, and if anything this has just cemented his power base. Not counting these Titan pilots, he's almost certainly got people in all three services under his thumb, not counting the Wraiths."

"Oh, I get it – he could just have 'em assassinated," I sighed and sat back, "Well, we all know that Kefka loves power above everything else. Aside from the fact that we were there, what does this have to do with u- oh, wait, I've just answered my own question..." I gave Terra another look, this one faintly tinged with fear, "Tee, we are _screwed_."

"Give yourself a pat on the back, Firmament, you've earned it," Anceleti said sardonically, "You two are one of the last major power bases around. I doubt that either of you realise it, but you represent a serious amount of clout within the upper echelons of the Imperial Army. I'm willing to bet that Kefka's plan has been to solidify his support in the rank-and-file so that everyone'll be too scared to complain when he moves in for you two."

"Have you ever thought about setting up a detective agency?" I asked sarcastically, "This is an impressive piece of deduction for someone with no actual evidence."

"I think he's right," Terra said firmly, "And I think you were right when you said that we're in it. We've got to do something - I don't want to end up getting killed by Kefka."  
"I don't think he wants to kill you, actually," Anceleti said darkly, "I've heard rumours...look, it may be we've got nothing to worry about. It may be the case that General Leo will just put his foot down hard on Kefka and this'll all blow over, but if it goes even higher-"

"-you mean, if Kefka has the implicit support of Emperor Gestahl?" Terra blinked.

"That was a bit of a leap, but yeah," Anceleti gave another humourless smirk, before his face became deadly serious, "I'll be blunt. I've served the Empire for almost fifteen years, and I have never seen it in anything approaching the state that its in now. Unofficially, I have to recommend that both of you get off the Southern Continent as quickly as possible. I don't know that you'll be safer anywhere else, but if you stay here it'll be only a matter of time before Kefka comes for you."

There was another long silence as Terra and I digested what Anceleti had just said.

"Crikey," I said finally, "That's a lot of a statement. How on earth are we meant to pull that off?"

"Simple," Anceleti leaned in, and motioned us to do the same, "The Wriquirix is going to be put through its standard shut-down routine, but I've persuaded a member of the ground-crew to refuel her after everyone else has left. If you come back here in six hours, she'll be ready and waiting for you. Take her and fly north over the sea to the Kingdom of Figaro and try to get in contact with the Order of the Flame. I'd suggest talking to the King, but that may be too high-profile for your liking."

"Plus, Firma has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth in the presence of royalty," Terra said, giving me a sly look, "What about you?"

"I'll be fine, provided you can do something about my leg," Anceleti nodded at me, "I still remember my Wraith training, after all."

"This is all happening so fast," I said dazedly, but nonetheless rose and walked around the table to take a look at the damaged extremity, "I can't believe that I thought today was just going to be a simple trip to the winter war games."

"You're going to have to move fast if you want to stay alive, Firma," Anceleti replied, "You have six hours to prepare. I suggest you use it."

Anceleti had certainly given us plenty to mull over, and once I'd dealt with his leg Terra and I left Anceleti to handle Jade and went to cross the tall grassy field between us and the large, concrete structure known as 'home'. The wind was blowing more fiercely away from the cover of the hangar and scythed mercilessly over the winter grass, chilling us to the bone.

"So…what do you think of all of that?" Terra asked tentatively, once we were a safe distance from the hangar.

"What do I think?" I raised my eyebrows underneath my visor, "I think it's wonderful news! I've always wanted an arch-enemy, especially one with enough power to crush me like a little bug."

"Stop trying to be smart, Firma," Terra's temper flared up, and she grabbed me by the arm, "This is serious stuff. You heard what Anceleti said! In six hours we'll be fleeing the Southern Continent! What are we going to do?"

"Rest," I replied blandly, "Before I make the longest flight of my life I fully intend to have a nice long sleep. Besides, I can't believe Kefka's going to be able to move fast enough to catch up with us in the next five or six hours."

"Firma, I don't think you're _listening_!" Terra said worriedly, "This is General Kefka Palazzo we're talking about here! He doesn't actually _need_ to have enough power to come after us – he just needs to think he does. If he decides that he wants us dead, then-"

"-look, we've got the next six hours before we run like buggery," I finished for her, "At the moment there's nothing we can do, Terra – nothing. What have we got between us? A couple of Imperial martial qualifications, about a thousand quid – which, might I add, probably isn't valid currency outside of the Empire, and until that Wriqurix is refuelled we don't even have any transport! How far do you reckon we'd get if we decided to make a break for it? Five miles, maybe? Ten?"

"I...guess you're right," Terra gave me a wan smile, "Everything that's happened has got me so jittery...and then there's the thought that we might actually get out from under the Empire. Can you imagine that, Firma? Not having to get up and run around like maniacs because some sergeant can't think of a better use of our time?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I looked around the field for a while, and sighed, "Still, I'll probably miss the old place..."

"Hey, we'll be able to come back when it's all over," Terra said jokingly, in a rather dismal attempt to lighten the mood, "Maybe we'll even get awards for innovation!"

Yeah, neither of us was really under the illusion that we'd be able to come back to the Empire if we left it in such a manner. If anything, running like this would probably result in us spending the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders to make sure that there weren't any Wraiths coming up behind us with long knives – but at the same time, it almost felt worth it just to be -as Terra said- out from under a constant regime of carefully timetabled activities. Although I hadn't realised it before, there was a part of me that had been aching for the olive groves of Figaro for gods knew how long, and now it had finally been given a chance to shout it to the heavens.

It took us maybe another twenty minutes to cross that large, grassy field and work our way back into our base. Although we had spent all day getting to and from Maranda, the majority of our comrades-in-arms were still out happily taking pot-shots at one another in the winter war games, leaving behind a largely empty base. We received a strange glance from some bugger as we hurried across the icy parade grounds, but aside from that we encountered no one else.

Before we could retreat to the dubious comforts of our room, however, there was the minor matter of signing in with the duty officer. While at night this role was performed by a dull yet astoundingly anal soldier, the daytime officer was a friendly, portly man with a cheery red face and a scalp receding at roughly the national speed limit. Technically speaking he was to be addressed as 'Sergeant Reginald', although he wasted no time in informing any newcomers to the barracks that he was to be addressed as 'Reg', unless there were any brass around, dontchaknow. As we approached the barracks, we could distantly hear the deep, guttural noises of Reg's nasal cavity taking its daily exercise and it was not particularly surprising to discover that the man in question was fast asleep in his chair.

"Evening Reg," Terra said cheerily, stepping up to the simple wooden desk that served as our barracks reception. After he did not respond, Terra leaned forward and gave him a gentle shake on the shoulder.

"I don't see you driving your boot into _his_ spleen," I muttered from her side, and she gave me a faintly amused look. Before she could reply, there was a spectacular series of grunts and snorts as Reg's brain slowly came to life.

"W-wh-what's that you say, my lad?" he said in a plummy Vectorian accent, "I say, Private Branford, its awfully bad form to wake an old war dog like me when I'm sleeping."

"I'm sorry, sir," Terra said politely, "But we'd like to sign in."

"What?" Reg looked around, and after a moment something seemed to click in his mind, "Oh, of course my dear, of course."

He disappeared under the desk for a moment before returning with a frightfully large black-bound book that was set carefully upon the table with a dull thud. The portly sergeant quickly heaved the book open to the day's date and provided Terra with a pen.

"There you go, Private Branford," he said brightly, "Sign away!"

Terra gave me a quick sideways look before leaning over the book and inserting the relevant information. There was a quick scribble as she signed her name before she stepped aside and handed me the pen. I looked at the book, and then regarded her with a rather irritated look.

"Terra," I said with great precision, "One of these bloody days your bloody signature isn't going to bloody well take up the next three bloody lines! Where am _I_ meant to sign?"

My sister gave an emphatic yet unsympathetic shrug in response, and motioned that I should finish signing in. Scowling, I found a small space amongst her ludicrously elaborate penmanship and inserted my initials.

"There you go, Reg," I snapped the book closed and pushed it back across the desk to the duty officer, only to find that he had already drifted back off to sleep.

"I think he's been at the brandy again," Terra said softly, giving the duty officer a gentle look.

"Mmm," I replied, "Sooner or later his liver's going to give out…but anyway-" I placed the pen lightly on top of the book and turned away, "I think I need a snooze."

Our room was pretty much as I had left it in the morning – large, cold, and filled with useless, matchstick furniture that had apparently been given to us as a perverse practical joke. However, there was one immediately noticeable difference about my side of the room.

"Terra?" I asked, almost too sweetly, "Have you been tidying up my stuff again?"

"Your stacks were massing for an invasion, Firma," my sister said calmly as she seated herself by her desk, "I had to defend my side of the room."

"So I see," I said, eyeing the now-visible floorboards with something approaching horror, "So you decided to do…what, exactly, with my work?"

"I burned it," Terra said simply, pouring her paperclips out onto the wooden tabletop, "You had too much paper anyway."

"Really," I replied acidly, sitting down at my own desk and peering around it for the elusive paperwork, "Now, what did you _actually_ do with my stuff?"

"I put it in the big drawer, Firma," Terra said, with just the slightest hint of admonition in her voice, "You know, that large receptacle that's really much better for storing things then the floo-"

"Okay, okay," I rolled my eyes and yanked the drawer open, revealing the stacks upon stacks of paperwork, "Right."

"I thought you were going to get some sleep."

I shook my head and flourished a long, rolled up piece of paper, "Not right away. I've got to work out our flight plan on this 'ere map."

"Won't Anceleti do that for you?" Terra said, "I thought he was still your flight instructor."

"He _is_ my flight instructor," I said irritably, "But as he keeps on saying 'If you want a job done, you've got to do it yourself'."

"Isn't that 'a job done right'?" there was a scrape of metal on wood as Terra poked the paperclips aimlessly around her desk.

"Apparently not," I shrugged, and pulled out a pencil, ruler, and compass from a smaller side drawer, "Let's have a shufti at this, then."

Well, it all seemed pretty simple. Although my particular map was so basic it only consisted of capital cities and a few points of interest, I could just about remember from the large map in the Blue Meteor's flight room where the enormous crystal dome of the Order of the Flame was.

"Kinda strange," I murmured, taking a pencil and drawing in roughly where I thought our destination was on the map.

"What is, Firma?" Terra replied, from somewhere in the back and beyond of the room.

"I remember when I first saw pictures of the Order of the Flame's base of operations, I thought 'that's a bloody stupid building', but now it seems to be our best hope of survival."

"You thought that? I thought it was really beautiful," Terra sighed, "So much nicer than the concrete blobs we get around here, anyway."

"Hah, there's an idea for you," I snorted, "Why don't you train to be an architect? When its all over you can come back here and design some nicer buildings for the Empire."

"You think I should turn up at the gates and say 'Sorry for deserting you like that, here's a nice interior design'?" Terra laughed, "Something about that doesn't quite ring true."

"No, I guess not," I shook my head and returned to my work. If that was where the Order of the Flame was, then accounting for the curvature of the planet...

"Well, this is going to be a long trip, Tee," I said, "I can tell you that for free. I haven't quite worked out the details yet, but apparently things that're far away take a long time to get to."

"Further than Maranda?" Terra asked. I nodded in response.

"About that and a half, as far as I can see," I took another rough measurement, "Yeah. On the plus side, however, you won't have megalomaniac bastards in death machines careening all over the shop laying waste to everything in sight just so that they can feel secure in their own waning masculinity..." I stopped, and took a deep breath, "So I suppose it all balances out."

"Okay..." there was the sound of a cupboard clicking shut, and the thud of Terra's boots on the wooden floor as she came back across the room, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about it? No, I don't want to bloody talk about it, Tee!" I snapped suddenly, and sprang to my feet yelling, "I want to shout and scream about it! Somewhere out there is a group of people who've just gotten away with genocide! They've killed Jade's parents and burned the entire damn city to the ground, Tee!"

"I know, Firma," Terra stood calmly in the face of my outburst, "I was asking if you were okay."

"Me?" I considered this for a split-second, then; "I'm fine! 'Course, once I track down and personally gut the people responsible-"

"Stop that," Terra said suddenly, "You're not capable of killing anyone - and besides, even if you did it wouldn't bring back the dead."

"Thank you for pointing that out, Tee," I replied sharply, and stalked over to the window, "You know what really gets me? How useless we were – I mean, when it really came down to it. What's the point in being a damn Sentinel or a bloody Mage Knight if I can't lift a finger to help people when it matters?"

"There was nothing you could have done, Firma," Terra said softly, coming to join me in staring out across the frozen grounds of the base, "The only way that hospital would have been saved is if the pilot of the Titan chose not to destroy it."  
"Mmm..." I closed my eyes and slowly ran my fingers through my hair, "This is so screwed up. How can Kefka even...h-how can he kill all those people just to prove a point? How did he get wired up so wrong, Tee?"

"I don't know," Terra said, finally, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I guess," I smiled weakly, "You?"

"I think so," Terra gave me a wry look, "If I don't focus on it, I'm sure I'll survive..." with that, she shook her head and returned to the more pressing matter of our impending departure, "I suppose I'd better throw go some stuff together, anyway. How much space is there in that plane for holding things?"

"You were occupying most of it," I said distantly, my mind still back in the smouldering ruins of Maranda, "It's not a transport, after all."

Terra gave me a long, searching look, obviously none too happy with my current state of mind, "Okay, I'll deal with the packing. You'd better get some sleep before you attempt to fly us all the way across the ocean."

"Me? I'm fi-" I stopped, and barely stifled a yawn, "Okay – point taken. I guess you can always sleep on the plane if you absolutely have to."

With that, I sat down on my bed and quickly unlaced my heavy boots before kicking them across the room to the small dark corner they cohabited with my waterproofs. Barely stifling another yawn, I lay back slowly on the hard, cold bed and listened to the indistinct noises of my sister's attempts to fit as much clothing as humanely possible into a pair of backpacks that really weren't designed for it.

Before long, I was fast asleep.

Predictably, the thing that woke me up again was my boot - that is, my boot being driven into my kidneys at an appreciable fraction of the speed of sound. Barely managing to keep down a curse, I sat up clutching at the offended organ and turned to give my twin a rather nasty glare.

"Tee, why the hell do you-"

"No time for that, Firma," Terra said quickly, and shoved both boots into my hands, "Get ready – we need to get moving."

"Huh? What?" I yawned indistinctly, and pulled the clodhoppers onto their respective feet, "Has six hours gone by already? What's the time?"

"You got four hours sleep," my sister replied shortly, "I hope you're feeling wide awake now for both our sakes."

"Well, I'd like some coffee-"

"No time for that either," Terra paused, and gestured frantically at my pathetic boot lacing attempts, "C'mon, Firma – get moving! We don't have a lot of time!"

"What...what on earth are you talking about?" I said, my mind still clouded by sleep, "The Wriqurix isn't going to be ready for another two hours. We've got loads of time."

"No, Firma, we don't," Terra said intently. Frowning, I looked up from my attempt at lacing the Gordian knot to inspect her expression a little more closely.

"Okay, Tee – what's wrong? You're getting yourself all worked up over something. What is it?"

"You mean you can't sense it?" now that I was listening, Terra's voice definitely contained a high-tension thrum that wasn't there before, "You can't feel him?"

"It? What? Him?" I shook my head, "How am I supposed to work out what you're babbling about if you don't even use consistent pronouns?"

"Stop trying to be clever, Firma!" Terra snapped, and clapped her hands hard on my shoulders, "Close your eyes and concentrate. Can't you feel it? That...shadow falling across the edge of your mind?"

"That's a bit melodramatic, Tee – and no, I'm not getting anything," I gave her a long, dark look, "You're talking about Kefka, right?"

Terra nodded slowly with wide, unblinking eyes, "I think he knows that we're going to try and escape tonight, Firma," she said slowly, and took a deep breath, "I think he's coming for us."


	5. Chapter 4: Night Flight

Chapter Four – Night Flight 

"Kefka's coming for us?" I echoed, "Oh, come on! How could he _possibly_ know that we were planning on jumping ship tonight? I mean, _we_ didn't know about this five hours ago!"

"You don't believe me?" Terra said incredulously, "Firma-!"

"No no, I'm not questioning you," I replied quickly, "I just want to know how the hell our good General Palazzo managed to figure something out faster than we did!"

"Well, if we stay around here long enough you'll be able to ask him yourself," Terra said tartly, "We need to leave, now!"

"Yeah, you're right," I gave her a quick, humourless smile, "Have we got everything we need? What did you put together?"

"Um...um..." Terra turned around suddenly and snatched two bulging knapsacks from her bed, "Here you go! One change of clothes, some stuff I half-inched from the canteen...um...our money..."

"It'll do," I said shortly, and slung it across my back without bothering to check the contents, "I'm sure we can make do with what we have. If worst comes to the worst, we could always sell the Wriqurix."

The corridor outside was just as dark as it was at four in the morning, but for some indefinable reason the shadows seemed just that little bit colder, somehow more oppressive. The only illumination at this time of night was provided by a large window by the fire exit, through which streamed the ghostly light of the full moon outside. Far from actually giving the place a bit of cheer, however, the light just seemed rather wan and sickly; a tiny pool of light in-

"Firma!" Terra whispered harshly, and jabbed me in the back, "Stop blocking the doorway!"

"S-sorry," I replied, and stepped out of her way, "I'm just feeling kinda skittish. Everything seems to be...darker," I shook my head, and gestured towards the foyer, "Ah, I dunno – let's just get out of here."

From our room, it was easy enough to reach the front door of our compound; all one had to do was take a short trip down the corridor and then cross the foyer to the exit. Barely had we managed to get halfway down the long passageway, however, when I held up my hand and motioned for Terra to stop.

"What?" she said, and then dropped her voice to a whisper as I drew my fingers across my lips in a 'zip it' gesture, "What's wrong?"

I didn't reply, simply because I hadn't the faintest bloody idea _what_ was wrong, exactly. All I had to go by was a sudden, inexplicable sense that something somewhere nearby was horribly, horribly awry, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise.

"Fir-"

"It's dark," I hissed tensely, "That's what's wrong! It's far too dark!"

"What are you talking about?" Terra looked around, "It's been this dark before loads of times," she paused to consider this, before adding, "Almost every night, actually."

"Clever," I raised my hand, and pointed back down the corridor in the direction we had come from, "But where's the light above the fire exit? Where're the little track lights in the ceiling?"

"That's a good point..." Terra blinked once in the deep gloom, "That's the emergency circuit, isn't it. I don't think that's ever gone out."

"Someone's cut the power," I stated, "Which means...someone's in the building who doesn't want to blunder around setting off the alarms."

"What alarms?" Terra snorted, "The only ones I know about are the fire alarms on the doors..."

As one, we turned to give the fire door down our end of the corridor a dark, suspicious look. The door, for its part, continued sitting still as it had pretty much always done, although I could've sworn it had acquired a faintly smug edge.

"I...think we should get away from that door," Terra said carefully.

"Agreed," I nodded, and gestured in the direction we had been travelling, "Well...the exit's just this way."

Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing about the foyer that settled my nerves. While normally the entrance hall was well lit even in the wee hours of the morning, it appeared that whatever had gone to town on the emergency circuit had taken out the halls main lighting at the same time. For that matter, it also seemed to have taken out the duty officer, as while there was a desk and a signing out book just about visible in the shadows across the room, the annoying, high-pitched voice of the night-time officer was nowhere to be heard. Giving a small, wry thought to mixed blessings, I looked over at Terra to see that she was actually looking across the room to a spot just underneath the desk.

"Firma..." she said distantly, "You're the medical expert here...could...is...is that an arm over there?"

Following her gaze, I thought I could just about make out a pasty-white set of five fingers poking out from the side of the desk, and the hint of a standard olive-coloured Imperial cuff.

"Looks like it," I replied, and clamped down on the sudden wave of dread that surged through me, "One sec, Tee – I'll go check it out."

"Firma – wait!" Terra whispered, but I had already started across the room towards the mysterious arm and its equally mysterious owner. If my suspicions were correct, then the Empire would be needing to put applications out for one replacement night-time duty guard, but-

"Sod!" I recoiled involuntarily as a sharp, lilac-like smell reached my nostrils, "Tee, stay back. There's poison around – a lot of it!"

"What are you talking about?" there was a short pause, and then Terra -completely ignoring my order- appeared at my shoulder, "Wait...what's that smell?"

"That? Oh, that's just one of Imperial Intelligence's favourite knock-out drugs," I said through gritted teeth, "That's why I told you to stay back, you goon. Someone's been through this way who shouldn't've been...but whoever they are, they're not exactly hell bent on murder."

"They're not hell-bent on us, either," Terra pointed out, "Otherwise we would've met them coming the other way. Look, let's just get out of here, okay? This may be your bread and butter, but it's way too sinister for me."

Before I could reply, there was a sudden flare-up of light through the two small windows either side of the main door, and with a sudden wash of dread I recognised the distant, but fast approaching rumble of the engines of heavy vehicles.

"Too late," I whispered, "That's Kefka in there, isn't it."

Terra nodded silently, her face dead white.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" I swallowed, "If Kefka's here that has to mean that he's got men all around the outside of the building. I think we've lost this game before its even got started."

Terra took a long, deep breath, and released it slowly, "I don't think so," she said, in cold, even tones, "I'm not going to let Kefka take us without a fight, Firma. If his troops get in the way, well-" there was a dim flicker of flame in the darkness, just enough for me to catch the frightening expression etched across her face, "-they won't be there for long."

"You've been reading those god-awful action novels again, haven't you," I shook my head wearily, and returned to the matter at hand, "Okay, I think the only way out now is through the canteen's fire exit. It's got a direct access to the fields out back – we can get to the hangers from there."

Without waiting for Terra to agree to that plan, I turned away from the exit and pelted down the corridor that led to the canteen. A moment later, I heard the heavy tread of Terra's boots as she came alongside me.

The heavy canteen doors were approximately halfway down the corridor, and at this time of night they should have been closed tight. As we approached them, however, I could see that they were quite plainly ajar, inviting us into the relative safety of the darkened room beyond.

"That's...not right," I said, drawing to a halt outside the doors, "I don't like this."

"Do we have time to debate this?" Terra said, and stepped forwards between the doors.

"Yeah," I grabbed her arm, "Listen – someone's thinking like me, here, and I think they're _trying_ to think like me."

"That _is_ scary," Terra agreed, "I can't think why anyone would want to put themselves through that."

"I'm sorry, I thought we were in mortal danger here!" I snapped irritably, "If we make one misstep then we're almost certain to end up in the clutches of Kefka, and I'm fairly certain that a really big misstep would be the one you're just about to make by going in ther-"

Suddenly, there was a tremendous _'bang!'_ back down in the foyer, and Terra and I both turned suddenly to see the cones of a dozen flash lights stabbing through the dusty gloom, accompanied by the strangely resonant thudding noise of a large amount of men trying to move quietly. Before I could react to their sudden appearance, my sister grabbed my collar and yanked me through the door, closing it with a quiet 'click' behind us.

"Well, that settles it," Terra said firmly, and then caught my annoyed expression, "Hey, ease off - I didn't really have a choice there."

"I know, I know..." I snorted, "That's what annoys me. I _swear_ we're being herded here, Tee, and I really hate it."

"You're hiding it well," Terra smiled humourlessly, "C'mon, we'd better get going before they find out that we're not asleep."

The canteen was a completely different animal in the dark. While, admittedly, I didn't really like the obscenely bright strip-lighting that illuminated the place during working hours, it at least managed to keep the shadows at bay. Without light, the room suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger and infinitely more menacing, and I felt my hackles rise as we picked our way carefully between the glinting tables.

"I swear there's someone in here-" I began, but Terra cut me off before I could finish.

"Firma, could you _please_ be quiet?" she said urgently, and I caught the desperate twanging note in her voice, "It's hard enough being chased out of house and home by a group of trained killers following Kefka's orders, but you're making it almost unbearable!"

"Sorry, Tee," I said quietly, and clambered quietly over a table towards the door to the kitchens, "Now, I _know_ that this door should be locked..."

There was a soft click as the knob turned easily in my hand, and with an almost painfully loud screech of fatigue-warn hinges the door swung inwards, revealing a kitchen well-lit by the ghostly light of the full moon.

"Well, wasn't _that _interesting?" I gave my sister a cheerless smirk, and received an annoyed glower in return as she pushed past me into the kitchens. Shaking my head in weary amusement, I followed suit.

Generally speaking, the kitchens were a place fabled in myth and legend amongst the hapless recruits who lived in our accommodation block. Certainly, nobody could possibly produce porridge as terrible as what we were given without access to some kind of dark, eldritch machinery, and the fact that the cooks defended their territory so vigorously tended to lend weight to the frequent rumours of human sacrifices and occult rituals in the light of the full moon.

Unfortunately, it wasn't quite that interesting. As far as I could see, all the kitchens consisted of were a few metal benches in the centre of the room, and some cupboards and sinks built into the walls. A few grey cabinets at either end of the room probably held most of the normal ingredients for cooking, but I wasn't about to waste time checking with scary, stealthy men practically breathing down our necks.

"There's that smell again," Terra said, taking a deep breath, "It's not toxic, is it?"

"Only in large quantities," I reassured her, and stepped past one of the centre counters, "Trouble is, its-"

My sentence came to a screeching halt in the middle of my mind as I practically tripped over a recumbent figure on the floor. It was a small figure, maybe no more than a meter and a half in height, and she was wearing a plain, chequered apron. Her eyes were wide open in a mixed expression of surprise and fear, mirrored by the strange 'O' shape of her mouth.

"Tee..." I said, and took a deep breath, "Tee, I just found Doris."

"Oh, don't tell me they knocked Doris out," Terra sighed, and walked quickly across the room to join me.

"No...no they didn't," I said distantly, and reached out to finger the crossbow bolt buried in her forehead, "She's dead, Tee. Probably died instantly."

There was a long, terrible silence, broken only by the subtle rustle of fabric as I reached out and closed her eyes as gently as I could.

"I can't believe this," Terra said numbly, "Why Doris? She's harmless!"

"You clearly never tried her cooking," I said, and winced, "My gods, I can't believe I just said that."

"But...why did they have to kill her?" Terra continued, apparently ignoring my dark commentary, "Why didn't they just knock her out like the duty officer? It doesn't make sense!"

"Not much is making sense tonight, Tee," I said, and gently placed the cook's hands on her chest, "For example, if Doris is...well, dead, then where's that smell coming from? Who _actually_ got done?"

Sniffing the air cautiously, I clambered to my feet and looked around the darkened kitchen. Although my immediate memories were still all over the place thanks to the sudden discovery of the cook's corpse, I was fairly certain that the not-entirely unpleasant smell had been weaker when we entered the room. That meant that -according to my somewhat fuzzy reasoning- the source of the smell should be somewhere over towards the back of the kitchen...

"We can't worry about that now," Terra said suddenly, "Any moment now they're going to start tearing this place apart looking for us, and I bet Kefka'll be coming through here sooner rather than later."

"Mmm..." I sniffed the air once more, and decided that whoever was out cold was quite simply luckier than poor Doris, "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

Moving quickly, Terra and I scrambled to our feet and crept over towards the fire exit located in the dark corner of the kitchen. A quick look through the dark, mucky window confirmed that the coast appeared to be clear, and I was just about to attempt to open the rather rusty-looking door when I caught my sister's expression.

"Tee?" I frowned, "What's wrong?"

"Um...Firma?" she whispered, and pointed over my shoulder, "I think I've found your second victim."

With a feeling of dread settling comfortably in the pit of my stomach, I turned around and saw someone stretched out on the floor who, while they certainly were a victim of _something_, was definitely not a cook. From what I could tell, it was a man, maybe an inch or two shorter than me, and dressed in a combination of greens and dark greys that made his outline hard to see against the dark flooring. Across his chest lay six knives with blackened blades, while at his waist was a similarly dark pouch.

"Suspicious bugger," I remarked, and looked towards his face, "It's the mask that does it, really. I mean, screw those blackened knives – anyone could get hold of those, but you've clearly got to be quite detached from reality to wander around wearing _that_."

The mask in question was, I had to admit, quite an elaborate affair. It was made from some kind of bright, shiny material – highly polished steel or silver or some such, and had been carefully beaten out to form the face of a man who was in the midst of hysterical laughter. Tinted glass covered the eyes, and gave an eerie, almost alien cast to the face as a whole.

"That's strange," Terra said quietly, "You've worn those clothes before, Firma – isn't it meant to make you hard to see?"

"I know," I replied, and knelt down by his side to take his pulse, "Makes you wonder why he'd go and spoil the effect by wearing a reflective Punch and Judy mask..." I looked at it again, and shuddered, "Anyway, I guess that explains the expression on Doris's face. If that thing came out of the dark at me, I'd wet myself."

"You think he's the murderer?" Terra said, and I immediately caught the dangerous tone in her voice, "And he's still alive?"

"Yeah," I said, and held up a small pistol bow for her examination, "I think that answers your second question. What _I_ want to know is who came along afterwards and knocked him out, and who's risking the wrath of Kefka by giving us an easy exit and letting us move unseen, 'cause they're one brave bugger."

"Well, they haven't revealed themselves yet..." Terra said, and gave the unconscious assassin a long, cold look, "Hey, Firma, what's that in his hand? That white slip?"

"That? Hmm," I frowned, and leaned across his body to retrieve what turned out to be a small rolled up slip of paper, "Not sure – it's got some writing on it, but-"

My comment was cut off by a nearby _bang_, followed by the thud-thud-thud of boots as someone, or a group of someones came storming into the mess hall. Through the small, grimy window on the galley door, I thought I could pick out the distinctive cone-shaped white beams of flashlights sweeping through the dusty air.

"The door, quickly!" Terra said, and made a leap for the fire door, "Firma, we've got to go!"

I didn't need telling twice, and in a flash I was back on my feet and over by the badly rusted fire door. With a quick push from my sister the door swung back silently on smoothly oiled hinges revealing the dark, dirty alleyway between our compound and the next, and with one quick look back we bundled out and closed the door quickly behind us.

"Hah, our luck strikes again," I muttered, and gave the door a dark look, "It's a good thing those hinges were well oiled, isn't it. How often do you reckon they get checked?"

"I'll say," there was a sudden flare of light in the darkness as Terra called a sharp blue flame into existence, "One moment. I'm going to weld this latch shut so they won't follow us."

"Don't you think that'll be a touch obvious?" I raised my eyebrows, "Anyway, shouldn't we be making tracks instead of indulging in a spot of metalwork?"

"You should give that sense of humour of yours a rest, Firma. It's getting a little tired," Terra retorted, "Besides, with that door in the state its in, do you really think that whoever's in there is going to believe that I welded it shut?"

"They will if they see you do it, and that's getting more likely by the second," I said tensely, "C'mon!"

"One second...there!" Terra extinguished the flame with a flick of her wrist and turned back towards me, "Right, where to now?"

"Same place as ever; the bloody Wriqurix," I sighed, "The only trouble is that it's all the way over there-" I gestured off across the fields towards where I knew the hangars were, "-...but in order to get there we've got to cross that road."

"Kefka's on that road," Terra said, and smiled weakly, "I really don't want to run into him."

"Yeah, I know," I didn't need Terra's acute senses to be able to hear the engine of an eighteen-person troop carrier sitting smack-bang in front of our dormitory, "And no, I know... but I think that they'll probably broaden the search when they realise we've gone. Maybe they'll move out of the way."

"That's a lot of 'probably' and 'maybe' there, Firma," Terra gave me an annoyed look, "Aren't you supposed to be trained to deal with situations like this?"

"Well, since you've obviously got a better plan filled with dead certainties, we'd better hear it!" my temper, already frayed by being chased around by the flash-light wielding mystery men brigade, gave a nasty twang, "Otherwise, I'm going to see if I can find out what's going on."

Without bothering to wait for a reply, I brushed past my sister and stalked off down the gloomy alleyway towards the sound of the powerful engine and the troop carrier it ferried around. When I came to the end of the back street I decided not to look around the corner for fear I would be seen; instead, I flattened myself against the wall and strained my ears to hear anything above the noise of the engine.

"Anything happening?" Terra whispered, slipping into place next to me. In reply, I gave her an irritated look and pressed a finger to my lips before returning to listening out for any juicy bits of gossip.

At first, it was almost impossible to hear anything at all over the dull, bass thudding of the troop carrier's pistons, but as my ears adjusted to the noise I began to make out a couple of voices talking between themselves nearby.

"-sir," one of them was saying in a voice that was both apologetic and utterly, utterly terrified, "There's no sign of them. We checked their bedroom, but the door was unlocked and there were some signs of a flight. I believe they got wind of us and fled before we could capture them."

"Or perhaps they were never there..." Kefka's cold, sibilant voice sent uncontrollable shivers down my spine, "I assume you checked the logbook."

"No, sir, your ward did that, and she reports that they definitely checked in."

"That means that they are still in the area," Kefka declared, "One thing you will learn, subcommander, is that we can always count on MK1 being anal enough to sign the book if she left through the front door."

"Anal?" Terra sounded hurt, "Me?"

"Yeah, I've been meaning to say..." I shot her a wry look in the darkness, and returned to listening to Kefka and chums.

"-but there's no other way they could have left, my Lord," the subcommander was protesting, "Aside from the front door, there's only a few fire exits out of the building. Your ward checked them personally, and reported that none of them had been breached..."

"You seem hesitant, subcommander," Kefka said coolly, "What else did MK6 report?"

"Well..." the poor man took a deep breath, "We lost radio contact with your ward's partner, sir. When your...when _she_ went to investigate, she discovered that the operative had been knocked out cold, sir. By the cook, sir."

"By the cook?" Kefka's voice sounded amused, "An expert killer was disposed of by an elderly woman armed with a frying pan?"

"That's the way it seems, sir," the sub commander said nervously, "MK6 reports that she successfully eliminated the cook before the alarm could be raised, and found no one else in the vicinity."

"Hmm..." Kefka paused for a moment, "Very well. Given the circumstances I believe that our prey has found some other egress, and is most likely attempting to locate a means of escape. Recall your men; we will have to reconsider our approach."

"Very good, sir."

"That's _not_ how it happened!" I hissed sharply, "There's no way Doris could've taken out that bloke! He was poisoned, not concussed!"

"True," Terra nodded slowly beside me, "But that would mean that this, um, 'MK6' was lying. Why?"

"Beats me," I shrugged, "But the poison used to off that bloke was the same stuff used to do over the night duty officer. This MK6 bugger also checked all the fire exits personally, but if she'd _really_ done that then she would've noticed that it was welded shut."

"She's lying?" Terra suggested again, "She's got a lot of backbone if she is, but it still doesn't explain _why_."

"Well, we aren't going to find out if we sit around here," I sighed irritably, "I _wish_ they'd just get a bloody move on. I mean, it's not like our dorm is that bi-"

Right on cue, there was a loud 'bang' as a metal door was slammed to out of sight, and a moment later the powerful-sounding engine roared to life.

"Get down," I muttered, kneeling down myself to make my profile as small as possible, "'No telling who might be looking around."

The ground beneath my fingers began to tremble as the large troop carrier came rumbling down the street towards us. Bracing my back against the wall and praying that no-one would see us, I watched tensely as the long, hulking vehicle rolled past on its huge balloon tyres. Thankfully, there was no sudden shout or a screech of the brakes, and with a sigh of relief I clambered to my feet as the brake lights vanished into the nighs.

"Thank gods," I muttered, and helped Terra to her feet, "We'd better go before they decide to come back."

"Definitely," Terra agreed fervently, "You know where you are from here?"

"Uh, yes," I gave my sister an arch look, "If you mean the Wriqurix, then it's about half a mile in _that_ direction," I pointed out the dim lights of the hangar, glimmering far away across the fields, "I hope Anceleti's got it mostly filled by now, 'cause we'll have to take off immediately."

I'm not going to bother to relate to you the highly exciting bit of this whole debacle spent jogging across a freezing cold field. Such a riveting, adrenalin-pumping experience may just raise your heartbeat to dangerous levels, and I don't want to be responsible for accidentally killing any pensioners. Health and safety regulations, you understand.

On the other hand, I _do_ want to spend a few moments just going over a few things that you'll otherwise just be guessing at. While you _probably_ want to know just exactly how Terra knew that Kefka was coming after us, that'll have to wait. I'll deal with that shortly, so sit down and shut up.

Instead, I'm going to take a crack at this whole bloody 'MK' business, as looking back I realise I haven't actually done sod all about explaining it before it cropped up, which probably resulted in no small amount of confusion. Fortunately for you guys, though, it's really, really simple. Basically, 'MK' means 'Mage Knight', which means 'someone who can use magic'...and since that's not exactly rocket science we'll just move along to the next bit. When someone -for example, Kefka- is talking about 'MK1' or 'MK2', you may have guessed that the number means someone specific, like Terra, or me. Well, guess what? You're right! MK1 and MK2 are Terra and me (respectively) followed up by Celes as MK3 and Major Anceleti -technically- as MK4. General Kefka Palazzo is MK5, and then we have the enigmatic MK6, who we'll be seeing a bit of later.

That was a pretty, uh, bloody awkward explanation, but that's how it goes. Just keep those names in your head and you can't go far wrong.

Now, where were we...oh, yeah.

The hangar itself was almost exactly as we had left it, although the Wriqurix was nowhere to be seen. In its place there were a trio of tyre tracks, and after a few moments I decided that it had probably been dragged off for refuelling and maintenance in the hangar.

"Right, let's get out of here," Terra said, and stepped forwards toward the well-lit hangar.

"Wait, Tee," I clamped a warning hand down on her shoulder, "If Kefka knew that we were going to skedaddle, I'll bet you that he's got a fairly good idea about how we're planning to escape. He's nutty as a fruitcake, but he's not stupid."

"I know," Terra's lips pressed together in a fine line, "This is still our best chance though, isn't it? Even if we were lucky enough to find a jeep or something ready to go, it wouldn't be hard for them to track us down."

"Yeah," I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, "Well, we'd better go and find out what's actually happening."

Moving cautiously, I slipped around the edge of the hangar door. Although the large room was so brightly lit that hiding in the shadows was a laughable idea, I did my best to skulk along the side of the corrugated wall as I checked the area for any signs of suspicious activity. After a moment, however, I was forced to conclude that if there _was_ anyone lurking with intent in here they were well hidden, especially considering the lack of anything dark to actually lurk _in._

The Wriqurix itself sat proudly in the middle of the hangar, surrounded on three sides by the squadron's sky-jets. Its brilliant, silvery coat glimmered brightly in the floodlights, and was almost blinding where the light struck the sharp corners around the wings and cockpit. A quick, cursory inspection from afar revealed nothing that would indicate that someone had messed about with the plane, and aside from the large fuel conduit connected to the rear of the plane it looked exactly as I had left it.

"All clear?" Terra's voice came from a point about six inches behind me, and it took a supreme effort not to leap completely out of my skin, "Looks it to me."

"I'm glad it's got your stamp of approval," I muttered, restraining a more biting comment with some effort, "You're right, but I can't see anyone...and I mean _anyone._ Anceleti's not here either."

"Probably fuelled it up and left, right?" Terra said, in a tone that suggested that she was trying to reassure herself, "Didn't want to risk being caught with us."

"If we get caught, he's going down," I replied, "No two ways about it. I'm sure Imperial Intelligence would just love to hear his explanation as to why a cutting-edge plane was left fuelled and ready to go the very night we decided to make a break for it."

"They'll be asking that question anyway," Terra sighed, "What's going to happen to him?"

"I'm sure he'll figure something out," I replied calmly, "Anyway..."

Without anything further I walked across the hangar floor towards the Wriqurix, joined a moment later by my sister. Nobody challenged us as we passed under the drooping blades of an idle sky-jet and approached the sleek shape of the spotter plane.

"Hmm, maybe we've gotten lucky after all," I muttered, feeling a little bit of the tension dissipate in my stomach, "Okay, Tee – could you get that fuel pipe? I'll just go get the start-up sequence under way."

As Terra went to remove the fuel pipe from the side of the Wriqurix, I quickly opened its canopy and hopped inside. Once settled in the comfortable pilot's chair, I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep, calming breaths before getting to work on bringing the Wriqurix's powerful engines on-line. Only another five minutes, and then we should be on our way...

Suddenly, I was plunged into darkness as the hangar lights went out, leaving only the glow from Wriqurix's control board. For a moment I stared at the blinking display before common sense took over and sent me scrambling out of the cockpit.

"You didn't touch anything else, did you?" I asked Terra, as I dropped lightly to the hangar floor. It seemed a pretty damn unlikely reason for everything suddenly going dark, but it was infinitely preferable to what I _suspected_ was going on.

"Apart from the fuel conduit? No." Terra hissed, "You think its time to go?"

I nodded, and realised a second later that she couldn't actually see me, "Yeah, that sounds like an exceptionally good idea. What do you think we shou-"

I was cut off mid-sentence by a dark, ghostly laugh that echoed across the hangar and seemed to come from every direction at once, and with a sense of horror settling into the pit of my stomach I looked desperately around the unyielding darkness attempting to pinpoint the source of the noise.

"I know that laugh," Terra said in a low, tense voice, "Firma, stand back."

Before I could warn her not to do anything stupid, there was a sudden flare of brilliant light from where Terra's voice had come from, and I threw up my hands reflexively to avoid being blinded. As my vision cleared, I saw two spinning, incandescent suns hanging in mid-air above us, clearing away the darkness and throwing everything in the hangar into sharp relief.

Unfortunately, what they threw into sharp relief made pretty poor viewing. At some point during the short, dark period the hangar had become an awful lot busier, as we were now surrounded by a rapidly contracting ring of shadowy men wearing the same strange masks as Doris' killer. The masks, however, seemed a somewhat secondary point to the already-cocked crossbows pointed straight at us, and I got the distinct feeling that any sudden movements would end up with us being porcupined on the spot.

"I think we're in trouble," I muttered to Terra.

"Do you have any ideas?" she hissed back, and I shook my head.

"None that don't involve a Brave Last Stand," I said helplessly, "Sorry, Tee."

"I can't believe that!" she replied intently, "There has to be a way out of this!"

There was a long, awkward silence, and I suddenly found myself studying the masks in front of me quite intently. There _had_ to be a way out of this..._somehow._ A moment later, however, the last flame of hope in my soul flickered and died as a slow, malevolent clap echoed out of the darkness behind the masked men.

"Well, it appears I must congratulate you on your spirit," I shuddered as Kefka's voice floated almost gently across the hangar. In one smooth step, the men broke ranks, allowing a tall figure and a slightly shorter one to come into the cone of light provided by Terra's spinning fireballs.

Of the two, I immediately recognised the tall one as Kefka. There was absolutely no mistaking the strangely willowy figure of the insane General, especially not when he was dressed up in a long, flowing, and intricately embroidered green robe. His skin was deathly white, and a blood-red tattoo flowed around his dark, vicious eyes and across his eyebrows. All about him there seemed to be an evil presence, and I could feel Terra and I draw closer together as he stepped calmly towards us.

Compared to Kefka, the shorter figure was thoroughly unremarkable. Dressed from head to toe in flexible matte-black armour, the general shape suggested that there was a woman somewhere under all that curiously insectile plate. Although she wasn't obviously armed, she was wearing a belt across her waist that held several pouches, containing what I could only assume were the tools necessary to carry out whatever highly nefarious businesses she was involved in. As she approached, I caught a faint, but very distinct whiff of the same knockout drug that I had smelt earlier, and a subtle smirk flashed across my lips.

"Out for a midnight stroll, are we?" Kefka sneered, "Hardly the weather for it, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know, I quite _like_ freezing to death. What's your excuse?" I looked around at the masked, armed men, "Don't tell me we stumbled into the middle of the live action role-play society's monthly meeting."

Kefka sighed melodramatically, "What pointless bravado, MK2. If your voice weren't shaking so much it might almost be believable."

"Oh, that's good," I shot back, "It's almost worth being chased into a hole and surrounded by heavily armed men just to hear you say tha-"

"Firma," Terra said quietly, "You're not helping."

"I should listen to MK1, if I were you," Kefka laughed nastily as he turned to one of his masked men, who handed him large, heavy book that looked heart-sinkingly familiar.

"I daresay you recognise this, MK1. Would you care to identify it?"

The sudden look Terra gave Kefka could have cut diamond, but after a moment she spat out 'That's the signing in book. _Our_ signing in book.'

"Most perceptive," Kefka flicked it open, and with a single long finger turned to the most recent entries, "Now, MK1, if you would be so good as to study this last entry made by you and your dear brother here, you'll notice that you signed in, but sadly there appears to be no indication that you have signed _out_. I do believe that when investigators recover this from the wreckage of your dormitories tomorrow morning there will be only one conclusion that they'll be able to draw, especially given your well-known tendency to do absolutely everything by the rules."

"Wreckage? It's not..." Terra paused for a moment, before adding quietly, "You... you evil, horrible..."

"I thought you would appreciate it," Kefka flashed her a quick smile, "Of course, we need to provide a couple of corpses to...to seal the deal, as it were, but I'm sure that your friend Private Alae and _your_ friend-" he looked over at me for a moment, "-Trainee Sentinel Tanis should be only too willing to donate for our worthy cause. Perhaps their fire-blackened skeletons will provide final, concrete proof that the Empire's prized Mage Knights perished in a brutal pre-emptive strike from agents supporting the Kingdom of Figaro."

_'Oh gods, Tanis...run...'_ I prayed internally, while I sneered, "C'mon, you'll never make that stick. Surely even your addled brain can see that."

There was another long, uncomfortable pause, and then without warning Kefka drove his fist into my solar plexus. There was a sick, fleshy noise and I was dropped to the concrete like a sack of potatoes. Gasping for breath, I managed to sit back up just in time for his steel-toe capped boot to connect solidly with my ribs and slam me hard against the undercarriage of the Wriqurix.

"Stop that!" Terra cried suddenly, "I'll-"

"You will do _nothing_, MK1!" Kefka's roar thudded in my ears and shook dust from the ceiling, "If you want your useless, pathetic brother to live out the night, you will stay exactly where you are!"

There was another long, uncomfortable pause while Terra and Kefka's gazes locked. Finally, Terra's shoulders slumped despondently, and she knelt down beside me.

"Much better," Kefka said approvingly, "Now, MK2, if you cannot fully grasp the situation then I should refrain from making further comments. As it is, I shouldn't allow world affairs to overly concern you. After all, in-" there was a short pause, "-three hours and twenty seven minutes your bedroom will be ripped apart by a series of immensely powerful charges, and the whole world will believe you were killed instantly."

"And...what...what about us?" I choked out eventually.

"Ah," Kefka knelt down in front of me, and the expression on his face chilled me to the core, "I daresay you'll find out soon enough. MK6?"

I watched as the black-armoured woman stepped forward and silently handed Kefka what appeared to be a strange, purple tetrahedron suspended on a filigree golden chain. "I would watch carefully, my dear," Kefka said calmly, and began to swing the crystal in front of Terra and I, "Mage Knights are a problem unless you know how to handle them. Of course, if you _do_ know, they are hardly worth the bother..."

His voice drained away as my entire universe became the glittering interior of the purple device, and I could feel my worries and concerns fall away, replaced by the calm, constant sound of my own heartbeat. For a moment time seemed to slow down...

The crystal shattered violently, and I could feel its death tearing a hole through my own mind. Through wavering vision, I caught the intent expression of Kefka as he surveyed Terra and I, and just behind him the impassive, covered face of MK6. Despite the fact that I couldn't see her face, the last conscious thought I had was that she seemed strangely sad…


	6. Chapter 5: Guardian Angel

Chapter Five – Guardian Angel 

I'm going to put forward the suggestion that we all take five minutes out to recap and have a quick look at the current situation. No doubt you've got a fair amount of questions that you'd like answering, and I'm willing to bet that most of you would really like to know things like 'How in the name of all that's holy did Terra know that Kefka was coming to dinner?' and 'What's the deal with that black-armoured woman?'. For now, I'm only going to answer the first question, because the second one will pretty much answer itself if we give it time and a bit of patience.

Now, we're all fully aware that Mage Knights can use magic. However, where Terra and I differ from the rest of those poor, deluded idiots is that along with our natural magical talent we also have a variety of less obvious, passive abilities, one of which is the ability to sense other magic users (and machinery) at a distance. Exactly what the distance _is_ varies very much from person to person, but the largest factors are the power of the person being detected (a bright candle shines more brilliantly than a dim one, after all), and the sensitivity of the person actually doing the snooping. For those of you wanting to know what its actually _like,_ I suppose that a pretty good analogy would be one of those old-fashioned radar screens. You won't be far wrong if you think of the snooper as being the large dot in the centre of the screen, while everything and everyone else as the little blips that appear around the edge. In fact, try to hold onto that image; it'll probably help you out later.

I'm going to address one final point here which will otherwise almost certainly be picked up by some sharp-eyed gimp, and that is if Terra caught Kefka trying to sneak up on us, why didn't I? Happily, that's a very simple question, and it comes down to the differences between Terra and I and how we sense magical entities. In Terra's case, she can't help but sense everyone – it's a constant, indistinct noise in her head that she can't shut out (which may go some way to explain why she's...um, the way she is) whereas I actually have to shut my eyes and actually concentrate to get an accurate impression of what's around me, otherwise I pick up bugger all.

I hope that helps, because although it's almost certainly as clear as mud I really can't be bothered with repeating it. I've got better things to do, after all.

Anyway, let's get crackin'!

When I finally came to, it was with a long, luxurious yawn and a slow cat-like stretch. For a moment, I wondered why Terra had decided to go without driving a boot into my kidneys - but on the other hand, good karma came to everyone eventually, and I decided to have another quick stretch before finally opening my eyes.

As far as mood killers went, the discovery that I had woken up in an entirely unfamiliar room was pretty powerful. Instead of the rather uninteresting dark blue ceiling that I was used to staring at in the morning, there was a white, featureless material, completely unremarkable aside from the four luminescent strip lights set into recesses around the edge. Looking around wildly, I could see the rest of the room was done up in a similar style; the white plastic covered the walls, floor, and had even been moulded into the pallet I was lying on. Furthermore, I was no longer dressed in my coal-black Wraith uniform; at some point in the proceedings, some callous git had half-inched them and dressed me in what appeared to be green surgical scrubs, although quite why they'd decided to pull such a trick was, for the moment at least, entirely beyond me.

Frowning in confusion, I sat up and gave the room a slightly more intent once over, and realised with a sinking heart that my initial assessment had been right on the money. As far as I could see, the whole room seemed to be formed from a single piece of the unnecessarily bright material, leaving no sharp edges or breaks which might be put to good use by enterprising buggers. Whoever had designed the room hadn't even troubled themselves by including a door, and every wall was exactly alike; white, sheer, and totally featureless.

What there _was_, however, was the slight figure of a certain green-haired young woman snoring peacefully on the other pallet. Like me, she was dressed in plain surgical scrubs, and thankfully showed no outward sign of having been abused by whomever it was who had thrown us in here. I toyed momentarily with the idea of letting her sleep for a little while longer, but came to the eventual conclusion that it would be pretty bad form to try to escape without her, especially if it was likely to end up with both of us being shot to pieces by those strange blokes with the crossbows. With a long, tired sigh, I reached out and prodded her with my big toe.

"Hey, Tee," I said quietly, "Wakey wakey! Time for us to start getting our act together."

"Hmm?" Terra opened her eyes and gave me a bleary stare, "Huh? What is it, Firma?"

"We're in trouble, Tee," I said urgently, and gestured at the room around us, "Can you remember anything about what happened last night?"

"Not...no, not really," Terra paused for a moment, and gave the white walls a long, slow stare, "Wait, Firma. Where are we? What's going on? Wait-" she paused for a moment, and gave the poorly made scrubs a long, hard look, "Firma, _who_ took my bloody clothes?"

"Does that really matter right now? C'mon!" I snapped my fingers under her nose in an attempt to get her to refocus her gaze, "Tee, we have to get out of here really, really quickly."

"Wait Firma...wait," Terra waved her hand in my face in an annoying attempt to get me to shut up, "I've got the worst damn headache in the world, and you getting over-excited isn't making it any better."

"Do you want me to do something about it?" I asked, "I could probably magic up a painkiller if you really need one."

"Don't bother," Terra sat up slowly, "You've got precious little magic as it is. I don't want you to go wasting it on a simple headache."

"It might be worth it if you're going to make comments like that," I replied sharply, but kept a lid on my rising irritation, "Anyway, how'd you reckon we're going to get out of this place? I can't see a door or anything."

"Well, there has to be one," Terra said simply, "They put us in here, didn't they?"

"Thank you for stating the obvious," I shook my head, "Why don't you use that keen deductive sense of yours and find us an escape route?"

"Hey, you're the Wraith here! I'm just an engineer!" Terra snapped, "Maybe you should stop making silly remarks and actually try to remember all those escapology lessons you claimed you took!"

"Yeah, that might work if I was tied to this damn pallet-" I hit the pallet with the palm of my hand for emphasis, "-instead of the damn thing being in a damn escape-proof room! Why don't yo-"

"Wait, Firma," Terra said suddenly, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear wha-"

"Stop talking and maybe you'll hear it," Terra said sharply, "Listen!"

I gave Terra a rather exasperated look, but decided to bite my tongue and keep shtum as she suggested. For a long time there was nothing, but eventually I thought I heard a sudden 'clunk', and the characteristic low, insistent hum of nearby electrics.

"What was that?" I looked at my sister, who shrugged.

"I don't know, but I don't think it was anything useful," she smiled wryly, "I just wanted you to shut up so I could hear myself think for five minutes."

"Oh, really?" I felt my fingers wrap reflexively around the edge of the pallet, "You could've just asked, you know."

"With you whipping yourself up into hysterics? I don't think so," Terra sighed, and touched me gently on the shoulder, "We're going to get out of this, you know. I'm not going to let them hurt you."

"Oh _good_, that's reassuring," I stood up, and started eyeing the blemish-free walls for some hint of an exit, "Of course, speaking as the one here who _isn't_ the paragon of all things magical, I'd be a little more worried about what they're going to do to _you_. They'll probably just kill me-"

"-Firma..." this time, Terra's sigh had more than a hint of irritation about it, "They're not going to hurt either of us, okay? You need to sit back down and relax before you do yourself an injury."

"Yeah, it would be a bit of a bugger if I hurt myself before they got the chance, wouldn't it."

"Firma!" Terra snarled, "If you don't stop complaining right now _I'll _do you a bloody injury!"

"Well, maybe you should help me check these walls for some sign of where the door is," I retorted, "Like you said; if they put us in here, then there has to be an exit. 'Course, its probably heavily guarded by just about everything the Empire can dream up, but...well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Pretty big bridge," Terra said morosely, and leant back on her pallet.

"Now who's being pessimistic?" I gave her an arch glance, "Look, just give me twenty seconds to find the door and we'll be able to magic our way-"

Unfortunately, I never got the chance to say 'out of here', as at that exact moment there was another 'clunk', much closer than before, and quite suddenly the wall right next to me dropped into the floor revealing a long corridor designed and lit just like our cell. I wasn't particularly interested in looking at the light fittings, however, when there was three people about two meters away from us. Of them, one was wearing one of those strange metallic masks, although unlike a lot of the people I dimly remembered this one had the heavyset, rather bucolic look of a hired thug. Aside from the simple knife kept within easy reach, he was fairly unremarkable.

It was the other two that deserved a closer look, even though I'd seen them both before. Neither General Kefka nor MK6 had changed out of their idiosyncratic costumes in the time that I'd been unconscious, although the latter did seem to have disposed of her gadget-filled belt pack at some point during the proceedings. Even so, their combined presence was enough to cause Terra and I to make a quick, desperate scramble for the other end of the cell.

"I do hope you both had a pleasant nap," Kefka smirked evilly. Terra and I exchanged a quick look.

"Fair enough, I guess," I ventured warily, "Why? Would you like us to suggest improvements?"

"No, MK2, I would like you to remain quiet," Kefka said evenly, although the look that he shot me suggested that imminent violence lurked just below the surface. Still, I couldn't see what I had to lose by pushing my luck a little further…

"Well, you did ask me a questio-"

"_Silence, MK2!_" Kefka snarled suddenly, and before I really knew what was happening his hands were around my throat and pinning me halfway up the rear wall, "Weak, pathetic worms like yourself should know when to be quiet!"

I gagged once, and stared in a mixture of surprise and awe at the maddened General, and one look at his expression told me that I was treading on far thinner ice then I'd thought; one wrong step here and I'd be dead for sure.

"I was thinking that keeping you alive would be in my interest," Kefka murmured, and tightened his stranglehold on my neck, "However, it appears that you seem to think differently…"

"Wait…wait!" I choked.

"Stop that!" Terra shouted suddenly, and lunged at Kefka, "Let him go!"

There was a black blur of motion, and quite suddenly MK6 was standing between Kefka and Terra's outstretched arms. There was another short, sharp movement, and before I really knew what was going on my sister was pinned against the wall in what looked to be a very painful arm lock.

"Not very impressive," Kefka said, in that same cold, clinical tone. For a moment his gaze rested on Terra's furious struggling, and I watched as a malignant edge crept into his sadistic expression, "No, I think I'd much rather that MK2 was no longer a problem."

"But that…that wouldn't be the _smart_ thing to do," I began, and was momentarily surprised when his grip relaxed slightly.

"Oh?" Kefka replied, although his focus was still very much on Terra, "Explain."

"Well…" I said, ad-libbing desperately, "All the, uh, _smartest_ crazed Generals know that the most stylish thing to do is to…uh, tell their hostages their most intimate plans...and, uh, um…leave them in a poorly guarded room…ah-alive?"

"He's right!" Terra agreed fervently, although the look she gave me was filled with incredulous disgust, "There's no point in killing him!"

"Hmm…" Kefka's gaze passed slowly between Terra and I, " Very well. MK6, release MK1; I think we may have found a solution to our ever-intractable Mage Knights."

Terra shook off MK6's arm, and favoured Kefka with a venomous look, "And what makes you think that?" she spat, "I'd rather die than-"

"Yes, yes, we've heard that before," Kefka sneered, and his lips curled back into an evil smile, "A pity, especially considering how eager you were to save your brother's life…"

"What? You're really serious?" Terra faltered, and her gaze flickered over to me for just one moment, "Wait! That's…not fair."

"It seems like the perfect opportunity for you to extend the life of the otherwise expired MK2," Kefka gently increased the pressure on my throat once more, "I don't see any reason to keep this fool around, especially considering how much he tries my patience."

"But-"

"But," Kefka cut Terra off before she should go any further, "If this failure can be used to make the great and good MK1 listen for five minutes, then maybe he is still useful."

"Wait a second," I began, "I don't think th-"

The last part of my statement was lost in a choking gag as Kefka pressed hard on my windpipe. A sharp gesture from his free hand prompted the large masked fellow to step forward and hand his knife to the maddened General, and I did my best not to wince or swallow as I felt the cold, sharp edge of the blade come to rest gently on my carotid artery.

"Choose, MK1!" Kefka barked, "Do you want me to slit your brother's throat right now, or are you willing to do what I say?"

"Wait! Please!" Terra held up a placating hand, "I-I don't know what you want me to do!"

"If you're worried about little details like that, then I suppose you're not interested in MK2's life," Kefka hissed, and I felt his arm tense warningly, "That's…unfortunate."

"No! Wait! Don't hurt him!" Terra cried, "I-I'll do it! Just…please, let Firma go."

There was a hushed silence, and then a loud clatter rang out as Kefka dropped the sharp blade on the floor.

"MK6, you're in charge of watching MK2," he said, and threw me roughly onto a pallet, "If MK1 here decides to renege on our little agreement, then-" his teeth glimmered in the bright white light, "-you'll know what to do. As for you, MK1…" I missed Kefka's expression as he turned to face Terra, but from her own it seemed pretty unpleasant, "We're going to go and have a little talk."

With that, the General gestured sharply to his masked henchman before stalking through the cell's only exit. A moment later, the burly man stepped forwards and took Terra's wrist in one enormous hand.

"Let go of me!" Terra snarled, and wrenched her hand away, "Don't you even thin-"

"Leave MK1 be," Kefka said calmly from the corridor, "She knows the penalty for going back on her word."

Terra looked dejectedly between MK6 and I for a moment, before slowly making her way across the room towards Kefka.

"Tee…" I choked weakly.

"Firma," Terra gave me a wan smile, "I…you know…please, just stay alive."

"I know," I coughed twice, "Yeah, I know."

Terra gave me one last smile and then her expression became set. Without so much as a backward glance, she walked straight out of the cell and down the corridor, leaving the rather generic bodyguard to trail along behind her.

The cell door slammed shut behind them.

For a long period of time I remained in my curled up position on the pallet while I tried to see why everything had all gone so horribly wrong in such a short space of time. As far as I could see, none of us – Anceleti, Terra, or I had appreciated precisely how much Kefka wanted the Mage Knights, or how far he was prepared to go to get them. Now, it seemed like he'd won pretty much outright; after all, he had both Terra and I, and if his nefarious plans to reduce our dormitory to a pile of rubble had gone to plan then the Imperial Army had probably already written us off as two crispy critters.

Mind you, I still wasn't sure if I was angrier at myself for letting Terra be taken away, angry at Terra for letting _herself_ be taken away, or utterly humiliated at being so totally outwitted by a man who probably buttered his own shoelaces. It was all so maddening, and that was made all the worse by the fact that I was pretty certain that there was nothing I could do to rectify the situation.

On the other hand, there was still a point I wanted cleared up about this whole debacle, and the subject of _that_ was sitting just across from me carefully inspecting the backs of her gloved hands.

"Hey, you," I said, with as much bravado as I could muster, "What's your role in all of this, exactly?"

MK6 glanced up momentarily, and then returned her gaze to her fingertips.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!" I snapped, and unfurled into a cross-legged position, "I'm pretty certain that you've been hel-"

There was a sudden explosion of pain in my solar plexus, and before I could recover I felt myself being pinned firmly but gently to the wall by a single armoured arm across the throat. For a single, dangerous moment MK6 and I stared at one another across a distance of about six inches, but then the black figure slowly released the pressure and sat back.

"Why-" I began, but stopped as MK6 tensed warningly. Once it was obvious she had my undivided attention, a single arm gestured about the room before returning to the side of her helmet.

"_The walls…have ears?"_ I considered it for a moment before understanding hit me, "Oh, right. Sorry."

MK6 shook her head wearily in response before reaching down into the cuff of her armour. I saw just a flash of olive-yellow skin before she withdrew a long slip of folded white paper and handed it over. With a quick, suspicious glance at MK6 I unfolded the sheet to find a long typed note inside:

_Firmament_

_If you are reading this, it means that your attempt to escape the Empire has failed and you are most likely in the hands of General Kefka or one of his subordinates. If that is the case then you only have a limited time to live, as although I have managed to convince Kefka that you may be of use in the future it is likely that he will lose interest in you very quickly, especially if you antagonise him._

_Not all is lost, though; I have anticipated Kefka's plans in the light of recent events, and as you read this arrangements are being made for your escape. Upon your release, you absolutely _must_ make your way to the coal-mining town of Narshe near the North Pole as quickly as possible, as a situation has developed there that has great implications for you and your sister. I am afraid that I cannot be more specific than that, but there are times when even I cannot get access to all the facts._

_Regarding your sister…Firmament, I am so sorry, but you must hear this. The procedure Kefka is planning to use on her turns the victim into a mindless drone completely under his control. I suspect he will be ordering her to Narshe to investigate the aforementioned situation, but it is also entirely possible that he will simply use her as a weapon against whomever he chooses. While I pray that you will be able to help her, you must consider the possibility that you may have to kill her. If that is the case you cannot afford to hesitate; it would be a disaster for everyone if she were unleashed upon the world._

_Finally, I will just stress again how vital it is that you succeed. In a short while you will be the only Mage Knight free to move around the world, and possibly the only person with the abilities to put a spoke in Kefka's plans. If you are fast enough, we may be able to bring an end to this disaster without anyone else being hurt._

_Good luck._

_Always yours,_

_P.S. Tanis and Alae received emergency transfers late last night to the winter war games. Consider it an advance for services rendered._

Well, well well…I looked across at MK6, who had been watching me with an intent stre. At this stage, I wasn't certain if she was actually mute or just playing at it, but from her body language it was obvious that she wasn't about to tell me anything about who wrote it. The fact that it was typed and not signed was telling too; logically, that would mean that the writer believed I would be able to identify them from either their handwriting or their name, which meant that I had to know them pretty well. Still, I didn't recognise the style…

A sudden motion from MK6 caught my eye, and I looked up to see her making a vigorous eating gesture with one hand. With a long, wearisome sigh I quietly folded the sheet of paper and popped it in my mouth, and sat back to think about what the letter had said. For a start, there was clearly someone up there who liked me, or at least thought that I would be useful until they found another stooge to do their dirty work. Still, there was the matter of what Kefka had done to Terra…

"Oh, Tee…" I leaned forwards and put my head in my hands, "Bloody Kefka! Why'd he have to go and mess everything up for the sake of a bit more power? What the _hell_ did we ever do to deserve this?"

There was a long silence from the other pallet, and I saw MK6 shrug out of the corner of my eye.

"Oh, thanks," I snarled, suddenly having found a focus for my anger, "You're a really big help, you know that? How in the world can you just sit around so casually when Maranda's burning to the ground and my sister is being used as a blunt instrument for the glory of a sick-minded megalomaniac? Well, are you going to _answer_ me?"

MK6 shook her head impassively, but then suddenly put two fingers to her left ear. She listened intently for a couple of seconds before getting up and walking purposefully over to the cell door.

"Hey, wait a second," I snapped, "Where the hell do you think you're-"

With a single irritated shake of the head, MK6 reached out and hauled me to my feet.

"Hey, wait a second," I faltered slightly, and an anxious tone crept into my voice, "Where the hell are _we_-"

My sentence died in my throat as the cell door vanished into the floor, revealing a figure that I certainly hadn't expected and who I had half expected never to see again.

"C-Celes!" my jaw dropped, "What in the world…"

It was undeniably none other than the irate General herself; although in my stunned state it somehow still registered that she was totally out of sorts. For a start, she had clearly been crying; her swollen, red eyes and tear marks down her cheeks were clear testimony to that. While that in itself was shocking, there was something much, much worse about her; her normally cold, defiant stance was barely a veneer for a dead, beaten Celes that I had never seen before in my life.

"Firma," Celes gave me a long, searching look, "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I've been kicked around a bit, but I'm okay," I shrugged and gave her a weak smile, "I'm more worried about Terr-"

"You can't worry about Terra," anguish flickered momentarily across Celes' face, "Not anymore."

"But I…she-"

"I'm sorry, Firma," Celes sounded like she meant it, "I know this is hard on you."

"Hard? _Hard?_ You have absolutely _no fu-_," I stopped, and took a long, shaking breath, "I mean…yeah, it's a bit much to swallow."

"I'll bet," the General gave me a mirthless smile before turning her attention to my armoured chaperone, "Thank you for watching him. That will be all."

MK6 gave a rather mocking little bow in response before leaving Celes and I to our own devices. Once she was out of sight down the corridor, I turned to give the General a quizzical look.

"Do you know her?" I raised my eyebrows, "That sounded awfully familiar."

"No, I was just told that there'd be someone here," Celes replied irritably.

"Told?" my eyebrows went up even further, "Let me guess; someone slipped you a letter."

"That's too good to be a guess," now it was Celes' turn to raise her eyebrows, "Especially for you."

"Hilarious," I flashed her a chilly smile, "Let me guess; you got a typed, unsigned letter from someone who has a thing for overdramatic prose and a pathological fear of contractions, right? I bet it tasted great, too."

"Well…no," Celes and pinched the bridge of her nose; "First I got a telegram from grandfather saying that…well…" her voice cracked momentarily, "You know what? You were right; I received an anonymous letter saying that you were in trouble, so I decided to stick my oar in, okay? Let's go."

Before I could line up another question the General performed an abrupt about-face, and stomped off down the corridor, leaving me to wonder exactly what had brought on that abrupt change in mood.

"But Celes – Celes, wait!" I scurried off after her, "Don't think I'm not grateful about this, but…you're going to get in serious trouble for this. I'd rather you didn't get done over by a firing squad for my sake."

Celes stopped so suddenly I almost ran into her, and when she spoke her voice was that of someone who was having a great deal of trouble keeping their temper under control, "Do you know how many people died when we attacked Maranda?"

I shook my head, mutely.

"Five thousand people, Firma," she laughed mirthlessly, "Because of Kefka and his antics I'm now responsible for the deaths of five thousand people. Do you know how that feels?"

"Bu-"

"But now I've been given a chance to snatch you out from under his grasp," she took a long, deep breath, "If I don't take it, how can I look at myself in the mirror ever again?"

"Even if this ends up getting you killed?" I shook my head, "I'm not worth _that_, Celes."

"Oh? I think you're underestimating yourself," Celes turned around and pinned me with a stare, "In fact, I'll bet you that Kefka's soon going to seriously regret allowing himself to be blinded by Terra's abilities."

My eyebrows went up, "Oh, really?"

"Definitely," Celes' teeth glowed nastily in the bright lights, "Now, let's get out of here."

Okay, I'm going to steal the focus back to my finger-gnawing typewriter for just a few moments while I clarify a few points. It's not that I think you're all brain-dead imbeciles, but I'm pretty certain that actually forcing some of you to think would result in very serious injury. Naturally, you'll forgive me if I feel that its necessary to spell this out in very large, inky letters.

You may have noticed that I tend to swan around with the title 'Mage Knight' tattooed across my forehead without ever actually doing any damn magic. In fact, you may have come to the conclusion that the _first damn thing_ a Mage Knight should do upon incarceration is to carry out an escape that can be measured in megatons and seen from space…but no. It may be the method of choice for the caped guy with rippling muscles and a chin like a battering ram, but it's just not my style. For me, magic is definitely something that's brought out in utter emergencies and even then as a last resort, which may explain why I don't tend to think of using it until after the fact.

On the other hand, it's that sort of thinking that probably saved my hide. I bet you've already figured out Kefka's line of reasoning for choosing Terra over me, and it's that she's a very large, very obvious beacon of magical power that's been honed over about a decade into a great big flaming natural disaster. Of course, then you have me, the ruggedly handsome and frightfully witty Mage Knight (see, there I go again) who, what with one thing and another, decided early on that being a weapon was a pretty bloody awful career choice and went to become a trauma medic instead.

I mean, if you were a devious super villain with a number of convoluted plots to put in motion, what would you choose; the Moon Buster 6000 or a popgun? I defy you to say the latter.

As it turned out, escaping the cell wing was hilariously easy, mainly because there was no wing to speak of, or, indeed, any other cells. The little room that Terra and I had been dumped in was actually concealed inside a low-slung, concrete building sitting in a dark, freezing field pretty much a long way from anywhere. For a few moments I stared at it in disbelief before finally turning to Celes for confirmation.

"You're kidding me, right?" I said, and pinched myself, "The whole time I thought I was inside the depths of some godsforsaken complex surrounded by armies of the best the Empire could offer, and I was _really_ sitting inside this…this…" I squinted at the writing above the door, "'Chemical Storage Bunker 3A'?"

"Essentially," Celes replied, "You have to give Kefka marks for innovation. It keeps you out of the way of prying eyes; after all, how many people do you know who stick their heads into bunkers filled with poisonous chemicals?"

"That's true, I suppose," I gave the signs on the door due inspection, "'Warning: Very Toxic Chemicals. Trained operators only. Full P.P.E. must be worn at all times.' What's PPE, anyway?"

"Ask a scientist, Firma," Celes said impatiently, "Look, you were knocked out and put in here - can we accept this fact and move on? We need to get over to the Wriquirix as fast as possible, and its cold out as it is."

"What – the Wriqurix? Why?" I frowned at her, "Is that even still an option?"

Celes nodded grimly, "This is why I said Kefka was going to regret not taking you instead; Terra doesn't know how to fly, and you're going to get us both to Tzen."

"Tzen?" my frown intensified, "What's in Tzen? Besides, wouldn't it be easier to take the train?"

"Oh, certainly," Celes snorted, "Right up until we're spotted by the guards and taken into custody. Don't you think that an apparently dead Mage Knight wandering around the Saint Padaston terminal would draw perhaps more attention then we really want? Oh, that reminds me-" Celes dug into a pocket and produced a knitted yellow bean cap, "-here, take my hat."

"Wait…what?" I blinked, and held up the accessory for inspection, "You want me to put this on?"

"Yes," Celes said, "I'll bet that most people won't give you a second glance if you cover up your hair. It's not like you've got the most memorable face in the Imperial Army."

"It's a bloody awful hat, you know."

"Would you shut up and put it on?" Celes flared, "Now listen, I want to go to Tzen because we both have to get off the Southern Continent. That letter-writer said that if you wanted to save your sister you had to get to Narshe before her, right?"

"Something like that," I nodded, "What about you?"

"I'm planning on going to the north of Doma," Celes said, "You know about the operations in that area?"

"You want to go see General Leo?" I raised my eyebrows, "You reckon he can do something about all this?"

"The highest-ranked General in the Empire? If he can't, then we're probably headed for a very unpleasant situation," Celes said frankly, "I have to try, at least."

"Okay, fine - that still doesn't explain Tzen," I pressed again, "I hear its really nice in the winter, but…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Celes turned around and began walking briskly across the icy field, "Firma, you _do_ know that Tzen has a deep water port, right?"

"Well, yeah – oh, right," I mentally kicked myself, "You're proposing that I go up to…uh, Figaro while you head off to Doma? That's a good plan, but there's one problem."

Celes stopped suddenly, "And that is?"

"You get seasick stepping over puddles, Celes," I pointed out, "I can't imagine what state you're going to be when you get to Doma, and I doubt you'll make a good impression if the first thing you do is chuck up all over Leo's boots. I'm pretty sure that's an imprisonable offence, actually."

"My word, you really _do_ love listening to yourself talk, don't you," Celes shook her head wearily and walked on, "I'll survive, I'm sure. If I were you, I'd stop worrying about me and start wondering how you're going to get to the Northern Continent; it's not like ships are all that regular."

"Why don't I just take the Wriqurix?" I gave her a quizzical look, "I mean, it's the plane that Ter- that I was going to use to get there anyway. I mean, if I have to drop you off halfway then I'll be out of fuel quicker…but I'll still have the range to land near that large city on the coast instead of the Order of the Flame."

"You mean South Figaro?"

"Yeah, that inventively named place," I smirked, "Right, I suppose we'd better get…what?"

Celes had held up her hand, "Be quiet, Firma. Did you hear that?"

"Hear wh-"

"If you shut up, maybe you'll hear it."

I gave Celes a sharp look, but curiosity overcame the urge for a snappy retort. For a moment we stood in complete silence on the cold, dark field while I tried to work out exactly what it was that I was supposed to be listening out for. Then, in the far off distance I heard a drawn-out, high-pitched wail that stopped far too quickly to be entirely comfortable.

"What the-" I gave a start, and glanced over at Celes, "Was that someone-"

"Screaming? I think so," she replied coolly, "And no, I don't think we should go and find out what's going on."

"But someone could be hurt!" I protested. Another distant scream broke the night's silence, confirming my fears.

"That someone could be us," Celes pointed out, "I'm not going to let you charge in there with some kind of hare-brained half-baked scheme. We've both got work to do that's too critical to spend time investigating whatever caused that noise."

"What's over that way, anyway?" I frowned, "I've got no idea where we are."

Celes bit her lip, "Well, I came straight from my quarters, which are over _there_…" there was another short mutter, and a series of quick gestures as she worked out where everything was kicking off, "I think that noise…yeah, that's over by the storage depot."

"_What_?" I exclaimed loudly, "Celes, that's less than five hundred meters from the Wriqurix!"

"Good," she replied calmly, "We can use the chaos to steal the plane – hey, Hey! Where are you going?"

"If it's who I think it is doing what I think they're doing, then we haven't exactly got long before they put paid to our only means of finally getting out of here," I said, quite seriously, "Kefka's on the move."


	7. Chapter 6: Trail Blazers

Chapter Six – Trail Blazers 

Make sure you're sitting down before you read on, because I'm about to do something that almost never happens. That's right; I'm going to credit you with the intelligence to tie your own shoelaces and make basic inferences! Of course, in reality it's just a simple excuse so I can quite happily assume that you know what on earth I was going on about just up there for once without me having to pound it home with an industrial-sized jackhammer.

The reason for my laziness is simple; I'd rather spend time, money, and ink protesting about something more worthwhile than a critical plot development, and that's this whole bloody idea of Celes' that I am in some way a godsdamned loose cannonwho has a pathological fear of doing anything by the book and leaves trails of destruction so mind bogglingly huge that they generate their own microclimates and systems of government.

This, as you may have guessed, is not the case. I'll admit that I tend to listen to the ol' cardiac muscle when I _should_ be referring to the decomposing neuronal tissue between my ears, and I'll also admit that there have been situations that have become, uh, rather exothermic as a direct result of my actions, but trails of destruction? Please. Not only is it dead hard to remain a Silver Sentinel if you're implicated in the spontaneous creation of a trans-continental canal, but its also dead hard to avoid being _dead_ if you spend all your time coming up with and executing pointless yet inventive ways to make other people, um, dead.

Hang on a sec; I'm going to see if I can find my damn thesaurus.

It had to have been at least two miles between the odd little holding cell and my squadron's hangar, and my bare feet felt every single meter of it as Celes and I raced across the ice-hardened fields towards the distant sound of screaming. As far as I was concerned, there was absolutely no possibility that whatever was kicking off so close to the Wriqurix was unrelated; after all, Kefka _had_ known that Terra and I were planning to use it to escape, and knowing the bugger in question it seemed entirely likely that he was simply going to murder everyone and anyone in the area in the name of inane, childish revenge or whatever psychosis he was suffering from this week.

However, despite knowing that and _despite_ the fact that I could hear the screams, see the dark red halo in the sky, and even smell an unpleasant mixture of burning oil and overdone beef, I was still caught completely off guard when Celes and I rounded the corner of a warehouse and came face to face with a view of total carnage.

"Oh…oh gods," I said, and had to steady myself against the nearby wall, "It's all gone."

There was almost nothing recognisable about the remains of the Blue Meteor's hangar. What had once been an enormous, sheet metal affair was now little more than a smoke-filled, flaming wreck. The walls had been blown clean off, leaving only a blackened, twisted metal skeleton that groaned and shrieked as it sagged in the immense heat.

"Firma, stop!" Celes put out a hand to stop me as I staggered almost involuntarily towards the burning husk, "There's nothing you can do."

"But there could be someone le-"

"I don't think so," Celes said, darkly, "Look closely around us. What do you see?"

For a moment I stared dazedly at the General as I wondered exactly what she was getting at, but then I turned my attention to the scorched earth surrounding us at the burning hanger.

"There," Celes pointed, "That lumpy, blackened thing just over there – no, _there_. What do you think that is?"

Again, I gave her a quizzical look as I tried to piece together what she thought that dark piece of shrapnel could possibly be. Then the flames shifted slightly, and it suddenly occurred to my addled mind that no piece of metal wreckage in existence had ever had four fingers, a thumb, and an unpleasantly large piece of bone visible on one end.

"That's an arm," I said calmly, as the world begin to spin gently, "A severed, burned arm. I bet its owner's missing it."

"I doubt that, somehow," Celes gave me a sharp look, "Firma, I need you to settle down and tell me what's going on around her-"

"Well, I think that someone came along with a bloody great tank and blew everything to kingdom come," I said with a wild smile, "Am I a forensic investigator yet?"

"Focus, Firma!" Celes snapped her fingers in front of my face, "I know you've been through a lot, but gods help me you're not going to fall apart until we get out of this fix, do you understand me?"

Something in her voice managed to pierce through the dreamy, fuzzy pink clouds that were descending around my mind, and with an effort I shook myself free of them and straightened up, "Y-yes."

"Yes what?" Celes' eyes flashed dangerously.

"Yes…General?" I ventured, and decided to follow it up with a slightly dizzy salute, "What can I do for you?"

"Calm down, focus, and tell me if there's anything magical in the area. Can you do that?" the General asked again. Quickly, I closed my eyes, put my hands together in a vaguely meditative posture, and reached out to see what was going down in the wonderful world of magic.

"Sod!" my eyes snapped open after barely two seconds had passed, "It's…crazy out there!"

"Explain."

"That's the best explanation I can give, I'm afraid," I replied honestly, "I mean, someone's definitely been chucking a huge amount of magic around in the area, but I couldn't tell you who or what was doing it."

Celes gave the blazing hangar a long, dark look before replying.

"I don't think we're going to be able to find anything useful here," she said finally, "In the end, it doesn't matter who or what was responsible for this; we'll still have to find alternative transport to Tzen. If anyone catches us near this scene, we're going to be in pretty hot water."

It was at that exact point that I was about to make history by Agreeing With Celes, which is probably why, at that very same moment, a pair of hands clapped down on my shoulders and a rather wry voice said, "Agreed."

With a truly titanic effort I managed to avoid making the same surprised shriek as the normally reserved General, but failed completely on maintaining a conserved appearance as I turned to face my squadron leader.

"Damn you, Anceleti!" I took a long, deep breath, "Damn you and your sneaking up on people and your bloody godsdamned _awful_ one-liners! How old do you think you are, anyway?"

"Apparently not old enough, if I'm able to get the drop on a Wraith," Anceleti gave me an arch look, but his expression sobered as he turned to look at the collapsing hangar, "I see you've discovered our little bonfire."

"What actually happened here…Major?" Celes asked intently, "Is this Kefka's fault?"

"You'll have to forgive me for not answering that right away, General," Anceleti looked around, "Before we discuss anything, I think we should all get somewhere out of sight of anyone who might come looking.."

"Like the emergency services," I looked at the blazing building with a sick feeling in my stomach, "Where are they, anyway? It's not like the Sentinels to be caught napping."

"They weren't," Anceleti said grimly, "They just turned up too quickly for their own good."

"Oh," I replied numbly, "Well, I suppose that explains that, then."

Anceleti nodded, and turned to Celes, "General, I assume that you came here with my trainee pilot looking to take the Wriqurix, correct?"

"Yes," Celes said warily, "That's clearly not an option anymore, though."

"Of course not," Anceleti paused for a moment, "Okay, I may be able to offer you an alternative, but for now I suggest we should get as far away from this-" I caught the expression that flashed across his face as he turned to look to look at the hangar, and immediately wished I hadn't, "Well, we need… we need to leave, now."

I had already decided, in the cynical depths of my mind, that the Major's intended route of egress would involve yet more pelting across dark, treacherous fields cold enough to freeze nitrogen. My poor, bare feet were, therefore, quite relieved when Anceleti chose instead to lead us past the back of several large, quiet hangars towards a distant set of lights at the far end of the runway.

"What happened, Major?" Celes stated again, this time in a tone that suggested she wasn't about to get fobbed off again, "Someone blew up your hangar, right?"

"And was anyone else targeted?" I added quickly.

"Firma, don't speak over the General," Anceleti gave me a sharp look before turning to regard Celes, "General, I think we've already established that someone blew up the hangar, and I'm fairly certain that both you and my protégé here already know who was responsible."

"Kefka," Celes said, and at the same time I replied, "It was Terra, wasn't it."

"I suspect you're probably both right," Anceleti smirked, "I can't really think of anyone other than Kefka who would've given an order to have the squadron obliterated. On the other hand, it was Terra who actually carried out the attack."

"_Terra?_" the General asked incredulously, "You really believe that your sister did this?"

"Don't sound so shocked, Celes. You suspected it yourself," I gave her a flat stare, "What other reason did you have for asking me to do a magical sweep of the area?"

"Actually, I thought that we had another rogue Titan on the loose," Celes retorted, "I wanted to know if there was anything nearby to stop us being jumped by one of the tanks that levelled Maranda. Anyway, how could Terra cause _that_ much damage?"

"Quite easily, I'd imagine," I snapped back, "It's not exactly bey-"

"Firma, stop being insubordinate!" Anceleti stepped in before Celes and I could get a proper shouting match going, "Again, you're both right; it wasn't just Terra or a Titan on the loose-"

"-it was Terra in a Titan?" I put my head in my hands, "Wonderful. Does anyone have any ideas how my day can possibly get worse? I'm open to suggestions."

"I still can't believe that Terra would actually go and do something like this," Celes shook her head, "Especially not on Kefka's orders."

"Well, Terra likes to burn things," I smiled weakly, "And I know that she's got that killer instinct of hers honed to a fine edge. All she'd need is a good reason and we'd be looking at the biggest damn inferno the Imperial Army's ever seen. 'Specially if she's in a Titan."

"And you think Kefka gave her a good enough reason?" Anceleti stopped suddenly, "What actually happened to you two?"

"In short? Our friendly neighbourhood lunatic held a knife to my throat and threatened to lean in hard if Terra didn't do everything he said," I took a deep breath, "'Course, being the one on the exciting end of the knife I wasn't really in a position to do much to convince her otherwise."

Celes and Anceleti looked at each other, "That…might do the trick," Celes said eventually, but then shook her head, "No, that's not it. We're missing something, I'm sure of it."

Anceleti nodded, "It doesn't really matter in the end. For whatever reason, Terra came right down the runway in that Titan and reduced everything in the hangar to cinders. For you, the only thing that matters is that you haven't got a transport-"

"Hang about; what about the rest of the squadron?" I put in suddenly, "That matters to me!"

Anceleti looked at me with a faintly amused expression, "Even Jade?"

"Why not?" I said roughly, "What happened to everyone?"

"They're all fine, Firma," the Major said reassuringly, "Most of them weren't even in the hangar when the Titan hit, and those of us that _were_ there did a runner as soon as we saw that damn tank come crunching down the runway."

"We heard screaming," Celes said quietly.

"So did we," Anceleti smiled that wry smile of his, "What do you think alerted us to the fact the damn thing was around? I don't think it really meant anything, though; how many people _wouldn't_ run screaming if one of those tanks came tramping out of the dark towards them?"

"You have a point, Major," Celes conceded, "Moving on; you said that you had an alternative form of transport available. What, exactly, are you talking about?"

"Exactly that, General," the Major stopped suddenly, and a moment later I walked straight into his back, "Easy, Firma! Anyway-" he continued, ignoring my muttered apology, "-here we are."

My first impression of the apparent point of interest was that my commanding officer had cracked after watching his hangar get melted down for scrap. As far as I could tell, this strange, new point of interest was just like the six-hundred-or-so meters before it; dark, cold, and thoroughly unpleasant underfoot with just a hint of enormous warehouse to the left-hand side.

"Where is 'here', Major?" Celes asked pointedly, "I don't see anything."

"Neither do I," I piped up, "'Sides, I thought we were headed towards the lit hangar down the far end."

Anceleti, by way of response, simply stepped up to the side of the warehouse and gave the apparently solid metal corrugate a good hard shove. There was a long, drawn-out screech of protesting metal and then a tall rectangular piece of metal fell inwards and hit the floor with a resounding '_bang!_'.

"Crikey," I gave my commanding officer a flat look, "And here I thought subtlety was supposed to be one of your strong suits."

"Surely someone's going to hear that," Celes added.

Anceleti sighed, "It's been a long day for everybody here, but I hope that neither you, General, or you, Firma, have forgotten that over the last four hours this base has seen a dormitory reduced to rubble and the Blue Meteor hangar set ablaze by what seems like a rogue Titan? Trust me, I don't think nobody is going to care about anything that isn't smoking."

That sounded like rather dubious reasoning to me, but I decided to let it slide, "Okay, fine; so what about this hole? Don't tell me that you've gone around slicing great big doors into the backs of all the hangars."

"Of course not-" Anceleti began.

"-it's been here since I worked in this hangar, Branford," I gave a sudden start as Jade poked her head around the side of the improvised entrance, "That was, what, eight years ago? Two years before I transferred to the Blue Meteors, anyway."

"It's not important," Celes said shortly, and stepped over the discarded piece of sheet metal into the hangar itself, "What in the world are you doing working in the dark, anyway?"

"Nothing suspicious," Jade gave Celes an ironic and rather insubordinate smile, "Just trying to put together a new way out of Vector after one of your dogs decided to-"

"Jade," Anceleti put up a placating hand, "How's it going?"

"'Could be better, could be worse," Jade shrugged dismissively, "I'll have to thank the chief mechanic of the Twelfth at some point; he's kept all his planes in top nick. 'Trouble is, it's a bit difficult to get all the pre-flight checks done when you're working –as Miss Chere here so brilliantly observed- in the pitch dark and there's a good possibility that the whole place might be blown to pieces at any moment."

"That's _General_ Chere," Celes said icily, and turned to face the flight leader, "It would be a good idea for you not to forget that."

"Sure," Jade laughed hollowly, "Just as soon as you learn how to retake a city without burning it to the ground-."

"Jade!" Anceleti snapped, but was overridden by Celes.

"I'd be very, very careful, if I were you," the General's eyes flashed with sudden fury, "Insubordination is punishable by court-martial."

"I suppose they can add it to the bottom of the list of offences that we're committing here," Jade pointed out, "Breaking and entering, stealing property of the Imperial Air Force; these aren't petty crimes, and they're all for the sake of a couple of naïve, spoiled-"

"Hey, wait!" I protested, "Don't bring me into this!"

"Come to think of it, you're already guilty of a few crimes yourself, aren't you?" Jade gave Celes a penetrating stare, "Like breaking Branford here out of prison. Attacking civilian-"

"Jade! That is _enough_!" Anceleti stepped forwards and hauled the flight leader into the hanger, "You and me are going to get this transport flying, okay? General, Firma? Wait here."

With that, my commanding officer dragged his protesting number two off into the darkness, and after a moment I was fairly certain I could hear people conversing in what sounded suspiciously like low, meaningful tones.

"Ah, sounds like Anceleti's giving her a bit of a dressing down," I said brightly in Celes' general direction, "Listen, Celes. I wouldn't, uh, think too much of that little outburst from Jade just now. Apparently, her family were in Maranda when those Titans went up, so…yeah, she probably has a grudge or two against you at the moment."

"Really?" Celes replied vacantly. I gave her a quick look, and saw that she was staring into the middle distance with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Yeah," I nodded, "But before, um, yesterday she was singing your praises all over the place! Everyone does, you know."

"Really," she had the same unreadable expression, but there was just a touch of sarcasm in Celes' voice.

"Constantly."

"You're lying, aren't you," the General's lips quirked ever so slightly.

"Through my teeth," I confessed shamelessly.

"I thought so," Celes sighed, and leaned back against the warehouse door, "The annoying thing is that she's right; in the end, I was the General in charge. It's my fault."

"I suppose that's why they pay Generals more than Sentinels," I snorted, and then a thought struck me, "Hey, did you get paid last month?"

"Firma, maybe you haven't quite grasped the situation here," Celes said, in tones that suggested that she suddenly didn't quite believe what she was hearing, "You're on the run from a mad General who's kidnapped your sister, blown up your dormitory and melted your squadron hangar into a piece of modern art! Why, in the name of all that's holy, do you want to know if I got paid?"

"Did you?"

"Yes," Celes' forehead creased, "Of course I did."

"I didn't," I gave the ground a dirty look, "The Empire owes me three thousand quid. 'Course, once I've paid them for all the room and board they so, uh, generously provide me I'll have a grand total of two hundred and twenty, and _that_ gets taxed, but still- oh, I'm sorry-" I said, catching Celes' expression, "You were in the middle of a moral quandary."

"It's okay," it was clear that the General didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed, "Our current situation clearly means nothing when compared to your fiscal crisis."

"Terra owes me one hundred, too," I added morosely, "If I'd known she was going to get steady work from Kefka I would've added compound interest."

"Oh my word…" Celes turned away, and there was the sound of something being unzipped, "I'll make a deal with you; if you stop complaining, _I'll_ give you that three hundred and twenty gil you're pining over."

"Three hundred," I corrected her, "I owe Tanis twenty for a cup of coffee."

"And you'll stop talking?"

"For three hundred? Like a shot," I smirked, and was subsequently astounded when Celes pressed three large coins into my hand, "What, you're serious?"

"If you promise to never, ever talk about this ever again," Celes' lips quirked once more, "Understand?"

"Sure," I shrugged, and stuffed the coins in my pocket, "I suppose we'd better go and see what Anceleti and Jade are up to. I don't know about you, but I _really_ want to be out of here."

Okay, so that wasn't _entirely_ true. While, yes, there was the undeniable fact that I was being chased by a bunch of ruthless killer henchmen with a demolition fetish and bad taste in facial wear, there was the equally undeniable fact that Terra had been press-ganged into their ranks. At the time, I wasn't entirely sure quite what I wanted to do more; primarily, I wanted to make it through the night without being blown up, bludgeoned or shot to pieces by a walking pantomime, but at the same time it had to be said that leaving my sister to the comedically supervillanous machinations of one General Kefka left a really, really bad taste in my mouth.

What with everything that had happened over the past day or so, it was probably understandable that I was just a touch tentative about wandering into a hangar that –as far as I knew- could quite simply be another trap for the catastrophically inept. It certainly fit the bill, although as I thought about it I couldn't quite see how 'large, open, and cavernous' were perfect elements for any ambush concocted by someone within a long-distance telegram of their sanity.

The only light in the whole area -aside from the small slit of illumination offered by our entrance- was a pair of small spot lights which were focused on the size of a large transport helicopter. Although they weren't actually focused on anything exciting, they did serve to draw my eye towards the cockpit where I could just about make out two silhouettes leant over the controls, apparently hard at work getting the chopper in the air.

"Well, there they are," I said with some satisfaction, "Looks like we're pretty much in the clear, I'd say."

"Pride comes before a fall, Firma," Celes muttered as she strode towards Anceleti and Jade. I decided to hang back and watch from a distance, the better to avoid being drawn into another argument between the General and my flight leader.

Please note that I said 'argument', not 'catfight'. Of course, this is mainly due to the fact that if Celes ever gets her hands on this and discovers that she's been implicated in such a, um, low-brow sporting event I rather suspect my life-expectancy will drop faster than a lead-plated barometer during hurricane season.

I'm sure you get the idea.

Of course, it didn't take long for me to become bored with the current state of affairs, and it rather looked like Anceleti had brought Jade to heel with sufficient force to prevent any further flare-ups. Without the possibility of an interesting rematch, I decided that it would probably be a better use of my time to see if I could make any more sense of the magical chaos that I had sensed over by the remains of the Blue Meteor's hangar. True enough; it wasn't particularly likely to have any bearing on what happened from here on out, but I, at least, wanted personal confirmation that my sister had been the one who reduced my squadron's home to scrap.

I took a long, deep breath, shut my eyes, and focused.

A moment later, my yell of surprise shook dust from the hangar's roof, and before I really knew what I was doing I found myself rushing pell-mell over the distance between myself and the helicopter trailed by the repeated cry of 'ohsodohsodohsodohsod-'

"Firma!" Celes stepped forwards, "What's going on? What're you so worked up about?"

"Well, um, uh," I stopped, and did my damndest to calm myself down. "Well, you know that, um, magical disturbance that I, uh, sensed about ten minutes ago?"

"The one that you couldn't make heads or tails of, right?" Celes' frowned, and then I saw a light come on behind her eyes, "Wait a second, you're not saying-"

"There's another big magical disturbance just like it and, um…" I took another deep breath, "It's coming this way."

"Oh."

There was a _'clunk'_ as the helicopter's cockpit door opened just a fraction, followed a moment later by the appearance of Anceleti's face.

"What's going on out there?" he looked quickly between Celes and I and frowned, "What's got Firma in such a state?"

"He thinks he sensed a Titan headed our way," Celes said, "Or something a lot like it."

"What?" Anceleti gave a start, but recovered his composure in record time, "Wait a second, how could it possibly know where we are?"

Almost simultaneously, Celes and Anceleti turned to regard me with what were, I decided, carefully blank faces.

"He did say that Terra was piloting that thing," Celes said, not unkindly, "And, well, she always knows where you are…"

"But surely that's good news!" I protested, "Surely Terra's not about to fire on-"

"No, that's very bad news," Anceleti interrupted me, "How far away was it? Do we still have time to take off?"

"Probably, but I don't see-"

"How _long_, Firma? How many minutes?"

With an effort I reined in a snappy remark, and focused once again on the approaching chaos, "About…five minutes, I'd say," I shrugged, "Give or take a minute."

"So it'll be within firing range in about three minutes," Anceleti pointed two fingers at Celes and I, "General, Firma, I need you to get those hangar doors open _now_. We're going to have to nose our way through them and be in the sky before that thing draws a bead on us."

"But it's _Terra!_" I nearly wailed, "Why in the world would she even _think_ about that-"

"If it helps, she probably isn't," Celes reached out and touched me on the shoulder, "I'll explain later, I promise."

"But-"

"The doors, Firma – now!" Anceleti barked. Celes span smartly on the spot and began moving swiftly towards the enormous shutter that served as the hangar's entrance. With a muttered curse, I grabbed one of the spotlights and followed suit.

"Okay, this is normally powered," I said, once I caught up to the runaway General, "'Course, since my great and good commanding officer decided to leave everything turned off we're going to have to open these by hand."

"Why don't you just blow them off the railing?" Celes pointed upwards into the darkness, "That would bring the whole shutter down."

"That was what I was going to suggest, actually," I snorted, and pointed the flashlight over to the side of the hangar, "You see that ladder over there? That leads up to the shutter's housing, and I reckon that the fastest way to get the shutter down is if I climb up there and cut it free from the hangar."

"That may be the most practical thing you've said this week, Firma," Celes said approvingly, "What do you want me to do?"

"Hold this," I said, and thrust the light into her hands, "Just keep it pointed at me so's I can see where the ladder rungs are, got it?"

Without waiting for a response, I turned and ran towards the dark spot where I knew the ladder to be. Just as I reached its base there was a flare of light against the wall, and I leapt midstep to grab as far up the ladder as I could. I took the rungs as fast as Celes' tracking allowed, ever-mindful of the desperate need to get out of the hangar before the Titan caught up with us.

The upper gantry creaked noisily when I finally flopped onto its surface, but thankfully decided to hold. I paused for a moment to catch my breath, before quickly getting to my feet and turning to regard the rather simple structure that housed the shutter. As far as I could tell, it was simply a large piece of protective covering designed to shield the flexible metal when it was fully retracted, with, unfortunately, the weld-joint that I had been planning to cut through quite plainly out of reach.

"Just cut through it and get back down here!" Celes' cry echoed up from the floor, "We don't have time for you to hang around up there!"

"I know, I know!" I called back, and with a quick flick of my wrist called a long, crackling blade of blue-gold light into being. Without any further preamble, I plunged the tip of my creation into the shutter mechanism and ran down the creaking, swaying gantry, leaving a shower of sparks and a bright, glowing trail of molten metal in my wake. The shutter began to sag as it was progressively cut away from the device holding it up, and an ominous, groaning noise began to join the hissing sound of my electrical cutter as the intact portion took the load.

"Almost there!" I shouted, as Celes' torch picked out the ladder on the other side of the door, "Just a couple of sec-"

There was a rather strange 'ping' as the final piece of connecting metal separated from the housing, which was followed immediately by the loud, idiosyncratic noise of the disowned shutter slamming into the ground and folding over itself. Moonlight streamed in through the now open hangar door, bathing our transport helicopter and everything around it in an unearthly pale light. As I watched, the blades atop our ride began to rotate, kicking up a dust storm that threatened to obscure Anceleti's view of the entrance.

"Hey, Celes!" I dismissed my cutting blade with another flick of my wrist, and looked down to see the General fleeing for the relative safety of the transport's interior. A quick moment's focus reminded me that the Titan was likely to be within firing range very shortly, and without wasting any time I clambered down the ladder as fast as I could. Dropping lightly to the hangar floor once more, I braced myself against the almost-overwhelming downdraft from the helicopter and half ran, half crawled towards its large side door.

There was a faint cry from somewhere nearby, almost drowned out by the high-pitched whine of the spinning rotors, but before I could identify the owner of the voice a pair of hands shot out, grabbed me by the wrist, and yanked me onto the hard, metal floor of the transport just as it lifted ponderously into the air.

"Thanks," I said to my rescuer, and rolled across the floor to the comparative stability of a handy seat.

"Mmm," Celes' expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was definitely a hint of uncertainty in her brow, "Can we really take off in here? Can we get enough lift?"

"I'm sure those two can manage it," I said reassuringly, somewhat ruining the effect by carefully buckling myself in, "There's no way we'll be able roll over all that wreckage, anyway."

Celes gave another 'mmm' by way of agreement, before asking the inevitable, "How far away is that Titan, anyway?"

"Not far," I said grimly, and felt the helicopter tip forward as Anceleti and Jade nosed it out of the hangar, "I checked just before I got onboard."

"If she – that is, if the Titan manages to draw a bead on us, do you think you'll be able to repel it?" Celes gave me a worried look as she, too, buckled up, "Those things have a lot of power behind them."

"I don't know," I replied honestly, "I really, really hope it doesn't come to tha-"

The entire helicopter jolted suddenly, and if it hadn't been for my safety harness I would've been pitched clean out of my seat. For a moment I wondered if Anceleti and Jade had accidentally clipped the wreckage or –worse- the sides of the hangar, but then, thankfully, everything settled back down.

"Sorry about that," Anceleti said from the cockpit, "If its any consolation, we're out of the hangar. Start looking around for that Titan, guys."

Without a word, Celes and I unclipped our harnesses and took up secure positions closer to the large doors on either side of the cabin. For just a moment I was struck by the apparent calm of the airbase, with all its hangars and the main airstrip shining brightly in the light of the full moon. A quick glance left and right revealed that we were just about level with the tops of the nearest structures; just a couple of moments and we would almost certainly be fre-

I felt a sudden thrill of terror pass through my system as my eyes detected motion in the shadows further up the runway. For a moment I was willing to dismiss it as simply a case of jittery nerves, but then, suddenly, the enormous battle tank burst into the moonlight, its burnished armour and enormous, low-slung cannons gleaming brightly as it pounded towards us with obvious intent.

"Titan!" I yelled, "On our right!"

"What was that, Firma?" Anceleti's voice came back from the cockpit, "Whe-"

Suddenly a loud, pulsing tone filled the cabin, drowning out the voice of my commanding officer and forcing me to clap my hands over my ears.

"What in the world is _that?_" Celes shouted, struggling to be heard over the incredibly annoying sound.

"I think the helicopter's decided that someone's trying to get a fix on us," I screamed back, "Anceleti, could you _please_-"

Before I could finish my sentence, the pulsing noise turned into a long, solid whine that sent a chill right through my body.

"Someone's launched a missile at us!" Anceleti called from the cockpit, "General, Firma; try to get a visual on it!"

"Don't we have any countermeasures?" Celes raised her voice even further, "I can't see anyth-"

"It's the Titan! The Titan's launched!" I cried suddenly, "We've got three missiles headed straight towards us!"

"Again, are there any countermeasures on this helicopter?" Celes repeated her earlier question, "If not, why not?"  
"No!" Jade replied, "Because it's a damn transport designed to ferry people between _friendly_ cities!"

"Fine - Firma!" Celes wasn't about to waste time berating the duo up front for their choice of vehicle, "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I _am _doing something! Hold tight!" I snapped, and concentrated as much magic as I felt I could spare into the palm of my hand. A bright spot of light winked into existence, and quickly swelled to about the size of an egg.

"If this doesn't work, I suppose we'll be down to Plan B," I gave Celes a worried look, "I don't know about you, but I really don't think I'll be able to stop a _missile_ with my shiel-"

"Stop talking and throw the damn thing out the door!" Celes fixed me with a dangerous stare, "Those things aren't about to grandstand for our benefit!"

"You think I'm not fully aware of that?" I snorted, and tossed my makeshift flare out into the night, "I'd buckle up if I were you."

Ignoring my own orders, I turned away to watch my little magic trick plummet towards the ground. I wasn't exactly how far I wanted it to be before setting it off, but one quick look at the three comets screaming towards us convinced me that we were now very, very much out of time. With a prayer out to any deity who might be looking down on us, I averted my gaze and snapped my fingers.

Even out of the corner of my eye the bloom of light was impressive, as the golden orb exploded with an almighty thunderclap and a sudden wave of heat that momentarily drove off the abyssal winter chill. Crossing my fingers, I looked towards the missiles, and-

"Got them!" I cried, "They've taken the bait!"

Thankfully, the missiles had obviously decided that the large, bright explosion was a more appealing target than the rather dull, blocky helicopter, and I gave a long, long sight of relief as the three comets veered off on their new course.

"Firma, get your head down!" Celes yelled, and pulled me to the deck, "Those missiles're just about to-"

There was a deafening explosion, far dwarfing that of my own magical creation, and it felt as if the helicopter had been slammed from below by a sledgehammer. The inside of the cabin shook wildly, and I suddenly found myself flying towards the rear of the transport. There was a sudden, agonising burst of pain as I took an enormous crack to the side of my head before being dumped, confused and disorientated, on to the hard metal floor. The world swam momentarily with strange lights and pretty colours, and for just an instant the ever-present klaxon sounded as if it was coming from a very long way away underwater.

"Hey, hey!" unfortunately, reality reasserted itself with the voice of Celes Chere, who roughly shook me back to full consciousness, "Are you still with us? That was a pretty nasty-looking knock."

"Huh?" I replied woozily, and tried to focus on the face of the General giving me whiplash, "What's going on? Why are we still being warbled at? What happened to the missiles?"

"What? Try to focus," the shaking stopped, and I found myself being lowered back down to the deck, "You managed to lure them off course with a magical flare, right?"

"I have to admit, that sounds like the kind of stand-up, square-jawed thing I'd do," I lightly probed the side of my head to make sure it was all intact, and felt the warm, slick sensation of evacuating blood, "Oh, hell; I'm bleeding."

"Really? Let me check," Celes said, and I hissed in sudden pain as I felt a pair of acutely cold fingers hammer on the side of my skull, "Hmm. It doesn't look too bad-"

"Then could you kindly leave off and let me deal with it?" I said sharply, and sat up entirely too quickly, "Your bedside manner leaves just a little bit to…oh, sod," the world wavered and began to go dark, "…that wasn't smart..."

Fortunately, Celes managed to get a hold of me just before I cracked my skull back against the decking.

"Listen, Firma," she said, loudly and slowly, "I think you've got mild concussion. Just…lie still and be quiet, would you? If I remember my first aid correctly, it said it should clear up without anyone having to do anything."

I sighed, and closed my eyes, "Could you go up front and check that the geniuses in charge of this boat are okay? I would, but I don't think I'll be able to work any magical wonders until my head settles down," I paused for a moment, then, "Hah, I make a great Silver Sentinel, eh?"

"You probably will, if you can avoid being injured," there was a clomp of boots on the deck as Celes stood up, and then a series of harsh clanking noises as she retreated towards the cockpit. I decided to trust her with dealing with whatever minor injuries Anceleti and Jade had no doubt acquired from our near brush with nirvana, and concentrated instead on bringing my own magical abilities to bear on treating the acute pain in the side of my skull.

"They're fine," Celes said, a few moments later, "Anceleti bashed his head the same as you, but the only thing he's got out of it was a minor headache. How's your head?"

"Better, thanks," I said wearily, and tapped the side of my skull for emphasis, "This whole magical malarkey doesn't half wear me out, though. I still say you'd be better off with Terr-"

"Terra's not here," Celes pointed out roughly, "As much as I hate to say it; you're the best we've got, and once our friend with the guns realises that we weren't destroyed by that spread of missiles you can be damn certain that they'll try a more direct method."

"Wait two seconds," I got to my feet and leaned heavily against the wall, "I thought we'd established that Terra was the one in that Titan. She must know that I'm still alive – so, why?" I ran my fingers through my hair, "I still can't believe that she's actually _firing_ at us, mind you."

Just then, bang on cue, there was a sudden flash of brilliant ruby light through the cabin door, followed immediately by a wave of intense heat. Feeling a sudden chill in the pit of my stomach, I went hand-over-hand along the wall to get a better view out the side of the helicopter.

"What in the world was that?" Celes said, taking up a position by the other door, "It wasn't the Titan, was it?"

"Weren't you watching at Maranda?" I retorted, "Of course it's the Titan!"

Far below, I could just about make out the dimly gleaming shape of the enormous tank still standing on the main runway. Both of its enormous gun barrels were glowing with the same light that has just blitzed past us, and as I watched the light's intensity began to increase until it was almost painful to look at.

"It's lining up for another shot!" Celes had, evidently, also spotted the Titan's glowing weaponry, "Major, you have to climb!"

"We're doing the best we can!" Anceleti shouted back, "Stop bothering us!"

"We can't really climb while the doors are open, either," I pointed out, "We'll need a pressurised cabin before we succumb to altitude sickness. Well," I smirked, "before _you_ lightweights succumb to altitude sickness, anyway."

"I know that, Firma," Celes growled, "I suppose we can't climb safely until that thing stops firing at us either. I don't know about you, but I need to be able to see what I'm aiming at."

"I suppose its down to us, then," I said weakly, "Why is it that whenever I say 'I really hope it doesn't come to that' it always happens. Karma, I suppose."

Pushing that thought aside for a second I gritted my teeth and gathered what little magical power I had remaining back into a space between my hands. I certainly wasn't going to be able to cover the whole helicopter -in fact, Celes and I would probably end slightly cooked- but at this range there was at least a small hope that I'd prevent it from taking out the cockpit or touching off the fuel tank.

"Don't try to cover everything," Celes said. Clearly, she was just as aware of my depleted state as I was, "I'll handle these doors if you can keep the critical components protected."

"I don't think that's a good idea," I shook my head, "If that Titan scores a direct hit on your shields it…well, it'll be bad."

"It'll be worse if we get char grilled by that beam," Celes pointed out, "Just shut up and do your job."

"Wait - I can burn out if needs be," I protested, "But you – you're not-"

"Firma!"

"Fine, fine," I sighed, and focused on the main guns of the Titan, "Okay, Tee. I can't hold this together forever. _Fire_, you goit!"

I watched with a mixture of satisfaction and pure, abject terror as the light within the Titan's cannons collapsed to a single, sun-bright point before blasting outwards as an enormous beam of pure, fiery death. Even from this distance, I could see the air around the writhing, glowing front flash into steam as it pelted towards us at a pace that far outstripped the missiles.

"Shields up, Firma!" Celes cried, and the air in front of me began to glow with a subtle blue aura as her magic came into being, "Now!"

There was a dim crackle in the back of my mind, and I felt my protective barriers snap into existence around the front and rear of the large transport. Naturally, there was absolutely no hope of me being able to throw up particularly strong shields around something of this size, but as far as I could see there wasn't any other option. Just so long as it didn't hit Celes' shields…

I felt a sudden thrill of horror at that thought, and reached out to feel the rippling wave of the approaching inferno. By all rights, all the fire and smoke from the missiles going up should've rendered us almost invisible to any observers on the ground, and I rather doubted that the Titan's main cannons were designed to lock and track a radar signal as high up as we were. That meant that-

"Celes!" I yelled, and immediately dispelled the shields around the cockpit and fuel tanks, "Get your shields down! She's aiming at me!"

"Firma! What are you doing?" the General snapped tensely, "What are you talking about?"

"Terra's aiming at me!" I shouted, and began slamming down layer upon layer of shield directly in front of Celes' defensive aura, "It's the only way she could possibly even _see_ us at this altitude!"

"But even so-

I was just in time, and the final layer of my composite shield crackled into being just as the shockwave riding the front of the beam cannoned headlong into the outer layer with enough force to rock the transport. Even so, that was nothing compared to the raw power of the beam itself, which almost effortlessly blew through nearly all my shields before I had a chance to react. Stars of pain exploded behind my eyes, but I managed to rally my last few fragments of power and reinforce the final shield just before it failed.

"Celes-!" I began, and took a deep, laboured breath, "Get ready- I can't-"

For just a moment, the golden, crackling aura of my shielding strained against the raw red power of the Titan before exploding in a shower of blue-gold motes, exposing Celes to the full fury of the tank. Suddenly exhausted beyond belief, I fell heavily against the cabin floor as Celes' voice rose in a cry of exertion.

"C'mon!" I said wearily, as our final defence wavered and flickered ominously, "Just another half-second!"

There was a strange, ethereal shattering as Celes' shield finally broke under the strain, and I threw up my hands in a desperate, futile attempt to protect my face from the worst of the beam. A blast of oppressive, hot air passed through the cabin, carrying with it a strong smell of singed hair, and I prepared myself for the worst.

Eventually, it occurred to me that nothing had happened, and I opened my eyes to find just a faint haze of mist weaving its way through the helicopter; evidence, I supposed, of the beam's final passage.

"Are you okay, Firma?" Celes asked wearily, sagging against a chair as she did so, "It looks like that attack and my shield failed at the same time."

"That's lucky, eh?" I replied. Clambering once again to my feet, I staggered uneasily to the far door and slammed it shut, "May as well close these; somehow I don't think we're going to be able to repel another attack even if we _can_ see it coming. How're you feeling?"

"I'll be okay," she smiled bravely, but I could easily hear the note of tiredness in her voice, "You don't look too well yourself."

"As you said, I'll be okay," I sighed, and went to close the other door, "I don't know about you, but I'm just about to freeze to death up here."

"What about the Titan?" Celes raised her eyebrows tiredly, "I know we're stuck if it tries anything, but…don't you want to know if you're about to bite it?"

I was about to reply, when, quite suddenly, the loud, piercing tone of the threat indicator cut out, leaving a strange, eerie silence in its wake.

"I don't think we'll have any trouble from the Titan for a while, Celes," I said grimly, and slid the door to with a harsh snap, "It looks to me like the Imperial Army've finally swung into action. She's being engaged by ground forces."


	8. Chapter 7: Terra Incognita

**Chapter Seven – Terra Incognita**

Before I go any further I'd like to apologise for that pun up there. Yeah, it was inevitable, and I also know that it's one of those things that presses that little button in Terra's brain marked 'Apocalyptic Rage'. Luckily, I've already come up with a cunning survival plan that basically involves not being anywhere within a five hundred mile radius of her when she gets around to reading this. I'd strongly, _strongly_ advise that you follow suit, or at the very least go and ask your local government official what 'duck and cover' policies are in place for your area.

Doomsday aside, I'd like to just to point out, once again, the sheer stupidity of sending in ground troops against a Titan-class Magitek tank. It is, it must be said, a plan so _colossally_ brainless that it even turns up in my current reference book _'Mr. Pigg's Slaughterhouse: A critical examination of catastrophic military strategies (Ages four and up)'_ and for good reason. I can't really talk about what actually went on down there 'cause I wasn't there, and I'm not about to hit up my sister with detailed, searching questions about such a traumatic incident. In any case, I think that the fact that fifty soldiers got themselves done over in as little as three minutes is telling enough, and that's not counting the scores who were lucky enough to escape with most of their limbs intact. However, in the event that you're so damn stupid that both this and the unceremonious destruction of Maranda somehow fail to drive the point home, don't worry; there's an even more extreme event wandering towards us that's guaranteed to make even the comatose sit up and take notice.

Hmm. I think I'm going to lend this book to Celes after I'm done with it. I'm sure she'll be just _delighted_ to find out what Mr. Pigg thinks of her exploits.

"Well, I guess that's that, isn't it?" I yawned, half to myself, half for my attentive audience, "We're away, I suppose."

"Mmm," Celes gave me a long, grim look, "It's fortunate that those ground troops arrived when they did. A second volley would have finished us for certain."

"Yeah," I took a deep breath, "I can't believe those poor guys are going to stand a chance against that thing, but I'm not certain whether I feel bad about that or not."

"Because of Terra?" Celes eyebrows went up, "You'd be forgiven for thinking that way."

"Thank you, moral compass," I snorted in the face of her sudden glare, "Anyway, I think it's high time you started talking, chief. I mean, you knew that Terra was the one stomping around out there in the Titan even before Anceleti mentioned it."

"Actually, Firma, that was you," Celes inclined her head, "But I wouldn't let a minor detail that get in the way of your argument."

"I said that? Damn," I frowned, "I could've _sworn_ there's something that you said you'd explain later."

"Oh, yes, _that_," the General's expression became set, "I don't know how to put this delicately-"

"-oh, really?" I smirked, "I'm shocked. Honest."

"-_thank_ you, Firma," Celes rolled her eyes and carried on, "Look, we can both agree that there's no way Terra would fire on you, right? She'd rather stick her foot in a rock crusher than knowingly put you in danger."

"I think you may be exaggerating the point slightly, but I'll bite," I leaned in, "Where're you going with this? Are you saying that she didn't have a choice in the matter?"

"Yes – well, no," Celes said, "She didn't have a choice, but it wasn't in the 'Do as I say or I kill your family' sense of not having a choice."

"Well, Kefka already did that one," I said morosely, and rubbed my neck, "I suppose even he likes a bit of variety to his threats."

"Let me finish, Firma," Celes said testily, "Your sister didn't have a choice because she had no will to make that choice with. Kefka's…well, there's this device that the Empire developed about two decades ago…and…um…"

"Come on, Celes," I said urgently, "Just say it. What's going on?"

"It's not easy for me to say," Celes rested her forehead on her fingertips, "Basically, the Empire came up with this thing called a slave crown, and-"

'Slave crown, eh?" I blinked, "What does it do?"

Celes stared at me for a long, long time, "You know, Firma, your habit of butting in mid-sentence is really quite exceptionally annoying. Now, as I was _about_ to say, this slave crown makes its wearer, well, a slave. They'll do anything that they're told to do, no matter what that particular task is."

"Wait, wait," I leaned back, "If it weren't for the fact that you simply don't have a sense of humour, I'd have to say this is a very bad joke. Do you know how _little_ we know about the human brain? Seriously, the neurology department in my hospital only got built twelve years ago, and it's the first of its bloody sort! Are you seriously telling me that the Empire came up with something that can completely dominate someone's mind twelve years before they even started _researching_ the brain? I don't buy it."

"Really? That's too bad," Celes was clearly not impressed by my logic, "That leaves you with the unenviable task of explaining why Terra acquired a Titan and immediately saw fit to burn down your squadron hangar, try to kill us, and then engage a fairly sizeable group of the Imperial mechanised infantry. Go ahead," with that, she leaned back herself, "I'm listening."

"Hypnosis? Psychotropic drugs? Heck, maybe she was offered a lot of money by the Kefka Foundation for the Morally Bankrupt– I don't know!" I threw up my hands, "There's plenty of possibilities that don't directly plagiarise cheesy seventies action novels!"

"Just accept it, Firma," Celes sighed wearily, "Fine; it's not consistent with the facts as you know them, but the slave crown is still a very real and very nasty piece of technology."

"And they went and used it on Terra," I said, "Gits."

"I'm sorry," the General gave me another sympathetic look, and something flared deep down inside me, "All this has to be very har-"

"Don't say it, Celes," I snapped, "You can't _possibly_ appreciate how hard this is on me! Terra went and willingly popped this thing on her head so that they'd keep me alive for another twenty minutes? Sodding _hell!_" I ran my fingers through my hair, "You'd have to be a sick mind to devise a plan like that."

"Why?" Celes raised her eyebrows, "Holding someone hostage to keep control over someone who could otherwise bring down half a platoon with her? Firma, that makes perfect sense!"

"Um, really?" I felt the sudden surge of anger sputter momentarily.

"Yes," Celes shook her head, "I wouldn't be surprised if this is what Kefka and his cohorts had planned for you two all along."

"Is that so, Poirot?" I replied sourly, "Well, why don't you apply that colossal intellect of yours and find a way to tell me that twenty-four hours ago?"

"I'd watch that tone of yours if I were you, Firma," Celes pinned me with a glare, "You could stand to be a little more appreciative."

"I – um, you know what? You're right," I settled back and did my best to bring my blood pressure back to a manageable level, "Sorry, Celes."

"Really," the General snorted, "Look, Terra didn't deserve this – neither of you did, but-"

"Who does?" I spread my hands, "I mean, seriously; who in the world would you wish some sort of crazy enslavement thingamabob on? Does it even matter anymore? The fact is that it happened, and now that I know what Kefka's gone and done to Terra I can't very well sit around complaining about how our escape attempt didn't quite pan out correctly!"

"I think I've heard this spiel before," Celes said calmly, "In fact, I'm almost positive that this is the point where you enthusiastically make an idiot of yourself for no apparent reason. Tell me, what _are_ you going to do if you're not going to sit around complaining about everything? That should free up eight to ten hours of your day."

"I'm going to Narshe!" I replied fervently, "If I can get there fast enough, then hopefully I'll be able to help Terra while you talk to General Leo and see if he can't get Kefka and his bunch of handpicked loonies off our backs."

"And there we have it," the General propped her head up by her arm, "As usual you've got your objective down pat, but you haven't got any of the details filled in. Do you have a route planned? Any idea of what sort of transport you're likely to need? If you need to be there quickly, you'd better start considering those things."

"Well, I was originally going to go to the Order of the Flame up Figaro way, but that was before I lost the Wriqurix and…yeah, anyway," I shook my head, "I don't see why I can't catch a ship from Tzen up to South Figaro and go from there. The plains on the Northern Continent are absolutely sodding huge, so they've got to have some sort of mass transport network going 'cause otherwise there'd be no way to get materials or personnel around the shop."

"You actually thought about this?" Celes sounded surprised; "I suppose you _did_ have time to consider your next move while Kefka had you locked up."

"Actually, I just made that up on the spot," I said honestly, "I spent most of my time in that cell staring at the wall."

"I'm shocked. Honest," Celes threw my words right back at me, "Still, you've also got to think about what you're going to do after you rescue Terra. What if General Leo sides with Kefka? What are you going to do then?"

"You mean in the thoroughly likely event of good, honourable, Vector-boy General Leo siding with _Kefka_?" I laughed shortly, "I thought it was widely known that those two absolutely despised one another."

"Answer the question, Firma."

"Defect," I said simply, "Run like scared schoolgirls all the way to Figaro and beg for amnesty. 'Course, we'll have about five minutes to enjoy our new citizenship before Imperial Intelligence turns up and fricassees us, but by that point I'll be bored of the place anyway."

"What a wonderful idea," there was just a _hint_ of sarcasm in Celes' voice, "So, if I can't convince General Leo to step in, your Plan B is to drop dead?"

"Or kick-start an international war," I considered that, "That would cover my tracks, but I think the Sentinels would probably throw me out for pulling something like that. I'm reasonably certain that it contravenes a rule _somewhere_ on the books. Basically, Celes, I'm depending on you." I gave her a sober look, "I really am."

"In that case," Anceleti's voice sounded from a point about six inches from my ear, "We may have a problem."

It was only with a staggeringly huge amount of self-control that I managed to avoid hurling myself several feet into the air. Instead, I dug my fingers into the hard metal surface of the chair I was resting on, and turned to face my commanding officer with a look of intense annoyance.

"_Damnit_, Anceleti!" I snapped, "Would you _stop_ sodding sneaking up on me? You should be old enough to know better!"

"Who said anything about sneaking up on you?" Anceleti said blandly, "I was simply waiting for an opportune moment to enter the conversation. _You_ need to pay more attention to your surroundings if you want to make it as a pilot or a Wraith."

"At the moment, it looks like I'm going to make it as neither," I pointed out, "Unless you were planning to incorporate dodging Imperial death squads into my training regimen."

"Don't worry; we'll get this all straightened out," Anceleti reassured me, "And when we do, I expect to see you in our shiny new hangar at nine on the dot. Got that?"

"You mentioned a problem, Major?" Celes put in, quietly but firmly, "What's going on?"

"We've received a transmission from ground control, General," the Major turned to give Celes a serious look, "Apparently, the Titan successfully eradicated the ground troops sent against it, and…"

"And?" Celes raised her eyebrows, "What can possibly trump that?"

"Well, they've since lost track of its position," Anceleti spread his hands, "Somehow, it's completely vanished."

"Oh, gods," I put my head in my hands, "How many people did she get?"

"About fifty, give or take ten or so," Anceleti replied, "The emergency services are in the process of investigating the scene, but it doesn't look good."

"I see," Celes said evenly, "I don't understand why that's a problem for us, however."

"Are they on to us?" I quizzed, "They couldn't possibly know that-"

"No, they don't know about you, Firma," Anceleti answered my question, "As far as they know, Jade and I are escorting the General on a surprise visit to Doma to confer with General Leo."

"Did they believe that? Doesn't it seem a little random?"

"They didn't have any reason not to," Anceleti spread his arms, "After all, General Chere returned unexpectedly early from Maranda without her retinue just earlier today."

"Well, I'd just received some rather bad news," Celes glanced at me for just an instant, "I had my reasons. _Anyway_, Major, would you kindly get to the point? What is this problem?"

"Ah, yes – sorry, sir," he coughed, "Well, from what ground control have said, the Emperor's going to make a speech this evening in the wake of the supposed terrorist attack that killed the Branfords. I'd imagine that he's probably going to make some broad, belligerent statements about rooting out the enemy wherever they may be, leaving no stone unturned – well, I'm sure you can imagine the sort of spiel I'm talking about, sir. Anyway-" he gestured at the General, "Your presence is requested."

"Me? Specifically?" Celes sounded surprised, "I can't imagine that the Emperor would want to consort with a mere Brigadier, especially after…"

"Maranda? I'd be inclined to agree."

"Not suspicious in the slightest, then," I shook my head, "Damn. I suppose you won't be going to see General Leo, then."

"Not immediately, no," Celes replied, "I can't very well ignore an order from the Emperor himself. Major?"

"Sir?" Anceleti looked up.

"Will we have enough time to reach Tzen, refuel, and return to Vector? We absolutely can't go back there with Firma still on the helicopter."

"I think so, yes," Anceleti nodded, "From here its about an eight to ten hour round trip. That should give you plenty of time to present yourself to the Emperor before the speech, if he requests it."

"I see," Celes nodded, and looked in my direction, "I'm really sorry, Firma, but it looks like you're going to be on your own for now."

"Oh, good," I grinned humourlessly.

"You'll be fine," Anceleti said wryly, "We'll have two hours while the ground crew refuel the helicopter. There should be plenty of time to work out how to get you to the Northern Continent before we head for Vector. If the General still wishes to go and talk to General Leo after the Emperor's speech, then I'll fly her there myself."

"Thank you," I said, sincerely, "General, Anceleti – seriously. I really can't believe you're putting so much on the line for our sakes."

"I'm your commanding officer, Firma," the Major shrugged, "It would be a pretty poor showing on my part if I left you hung out to dry."

"Agreed," Celes stood up, "Major, I'll be taking you up on your suggestion. I promise you, Firma, we _are_ going to see General Leo, no matter what. And," her stance shifted ever so slightly, "If he won't do anything to sort this travesty out, _I_ will."

You know, I think that says just about everything you can say about Celes. Sure, we bicker and argue like little kids, but when push comes to shove I can honestly say that there are very few people I'd rather have watching my six than her. It'll almost certainly become very, very evident later, but I feel it kind've needs saying here, just in case there was someone who somehow missed it.

In any case, that's about all I'm going to record about that conversation. There was a little bit after Celes' dramatic proclamation, but to be honest it makes me look like an idiot and therefore I'm not going to include it. Editor's prerogative, you understand.

Now, you've probably noticed that the city 'Tzen' has been mentioned just a few times in the past twenty-four hours or so, but I'm willing to bet that many of you are such pasty-skinned reclusive shut-ins that all you know about Tzen is that they keep on thrashing us at football. Thankfully, I'm here to provide a public service to all you historically impaired gormless fools with a brief history of this, uh, unique city.

If one adopts a rather cartoonish, overly simplistic view of the world there can be said to be only two kinds of port cities. First off, you have the peaceful, sun-kissed villages where the houses are made of palm trees and the local currency is the coconut. Naturally, the other port city is the more productive type where just about everything is made of horrific concrete cubes and the primary exports are harsh language, beer hangovers, and knuckle sandwiches. The interesting thing about Tzen is that –thanks to the Emprie- it has had the rather dubious honour of being both.

Originally, the capital city of Tzenia was about as stereotypical a tropical fishing village as you can get. The parents fished, the kids played on the beach, and apart from the occasional hurricane, rampaging tornado, or all-consuming tsunami the villagers had ne'er a care in the world. Naturally, this happy-go-lucky community thrived and grew to a large, bustling palm-tree filled city with a coconut-based economy and, inevitably, spread out across the whole northern part of the continent.

Unfortunately, about one hundred years ago they expanded right into territory claimed by the Empire, who _weren't_ born of a peaceful village on the sunny northern coastlines but _were_ very good at blowing the ever-lovin' bajeezus out of anyone who they thought violated their borders. Naturally, a war followed, and unsurprisingly the heavily armed, well-trained Empire stamped all over the nefarious coconut traders from the north coast.

If we were talking about somewhere like Maranda this would be where the story ended; the victorious Empire expanded its borders, set up a garrison, and generally left its new subjects alone except when it wanted things like taxes or new roads. However, Tzen had already established a fairly large number of pretty damn lucrative trading routes with Figaro, Jidoor, and Doma, and it was generally decided that because this was about as far as those dirty foreigners ever got into the Southern Continent, it would be a jolly good idea to show them the glory of the Empire. In effect Tzen became the Imperial's second capital city, and underwent substantial redecorating to properly reflect this fact.

The main trouble for everyone here is that –as many people are no doubt aware- the architects in charge of Imperial city planning tended to come up with a cross between 'steampunk' and 'horrific train accident', and this was exemplified in Tzen where the historically significant, carefully designed, culturally important buildings were bulldozed into lots of little pieces and replaced with large, 'orrible buildings with lots of gild and no soul. This was made all the worse, of course, by the fact that the gilding was subsequently nicked, leaving us with big bland city that still stands today.

Fortunately, the big 'make Tzen a blinding eyesore' drive happened a little while before the development of large-scale aerial transport, which meant that the little civilian airport already in place was never really given the time and money needed to turn it from a small, dusty little aerodrome into a largely unused gilded fortress of power. Air traffic control, such as it was, consisted of one very prissy-sounding technician who, after a short period of wrangling with Anceleti, eventually got to work and found a spot for the bulky helicopter near the fuel dumps.

"What was his problem?" I asked, from my new position in the cockpit door, "It's not like there's about to be a rush job on helipads or anything."

"Hah," Jade looked up quickly from her instruments, "He's a small, stuffy little man with delusions of grandeur."

"That's certainly true," Anceleti agreed, "The git fancies himself as Emperor of Tzenia Aerodrome, and he'll fly into a rage over anything that deviates even slightly from his gods-given rule. Surely you remember him, though," the Major gave me a wry look, "A couple of years ago? Your, uh, _inventive_ landing almost gave him a heart attack."

"What? This was that guy?" I leaned forwards, "Could you reopen the channel? I've got a few choice things I'd like to say to that bellen-"

"Go and sit down," Anceleti waved me away from the cockpit, "I don't like him much, but I'm not about to let you blow our cover by broadcasting your voice all over the continent."

"I wasn't being serious, you know."

"I was," Anceleti jerked his thumb back towards the helicopter cabin, "Go and get ready for landing, Firma. I need to concentrate."

It was still dark when we approached the airstrip, but from the sound of the wind whipping around outside it was pretty evident that we'd just hit the front of one of the many energetic storms that came visiting during the Tzenian wet season. From the cockpit I could hear the occasional bout of cursing and swearing as Anceleti and Jade battled against the treacherous conditions as they tried to bring the helicopter in to land.

"You know, it would be bloody stupid if we crash-landed now after all that kerfuffle with that Titan," I said cheerfully as I buckled up, "_Really_ bloody stupid."

"Funnily enough, this is one of those times where I _really_ wish you'd stay quiet," Celes said through obviously clenched teeth, "Your big mouth and karma have a way of intersecting, so do us all a favour and settle down!"

Luckily for all concerned, the tender ministrations of my superior officers managed to bring the helicopter down amongst the howling maelstrom, and after five minutes of hurried prayers and buttock-clenching terror there was a loud 'bang' and a jolt as the helicopter's skids slammed hard into the tarmac.

"See? Peace of cake," I heard Anceleti mutter to Jade up front, "Nothing to it, really."

Fortunately, the unclipping of my harness largely masked Jade's response, and after a moment or two of luxurious leg-stretching, I sauntered over to the cabin door and threw it open with a cheerful 'Good morning, Tzenia!'

Unfortunately, it didn't look like Tzenia was having a particularly good time of it. Although the sun was visible in the sky, about all it was illuminating was a lot of very dark, threatening storm clouds hovering ominously to the north. While it didn't look like it was about to rain in the immediate future, the strange yellowish tint of the sky and the powerful winds whipping around us strongly indicated that an umbrella would be a very wise investment for the mid-term.

The airstrip itself was pretty much as I remembered it from two years ago, which is to say it was a single strip of tarmac with a large, rusty hangar at the nearest end. Small civilian aircraft of all conceivable sizes, configurations, and colours lined the runway; some were covered in billowing tarpaulin, but most were left exposed to the harsh conditions and as a result looking somewhat the worse for wear.

"Windy, isn't it," Celes remarked, "Makes me glad I remembered my jacket."

"Keep up comments like that and you won't have it for much longer," I muttered, holding onto the helicopter for balance, "Its better than Vector, though. At least this storm isn't going to freeze the balls of a brass monkey."

"I think the phrase is 'freeze the balls 'off' a brass monkey', Firma," Celes drew her coat tight around her body, "Although I suppose you're probably technically correct."

"That's reassuring," I said blandly, "You know what? The only way my day could possibly get better after your act of kindness is if someone would tell me that this place has a coffee shop that's open at whatever time it is now."

"Good news, Firma," predictably, Anceleti was standing right behind me, "That hangar over there does a pretty reasonable cup of coffee pretty much any hour of the day you could mention – but maybe you'd like to take a look at _that_ thing over there, first."

"What thing over wher-" I followed Anceleti's finger, and my jaw dropped open, "Whoa."

Okay, here's the thing; _I _know what a dirigble looks like, and _you_ know what a dirigible looks like, or at least you should. If you don't, then you can basically think of it as a hot air balloon crossed with a torpedo or whatever crosses your dirty, dirty little minds. Got it? Aside from the fact that it flies, your average airship is about as interesting as papier mache arts and craft.

The airship in front of us, however, was very far from your average airship. It looked like someone had taken the original designs, and made them sleeker, more graceful, and infinitely grander. However, while they had certainly managed to achieve all their aims, it was unfortunately just as apparent that they had set out to accomplish them several decades ago. The gas cavity, (which was probably originally intended to be a deep black) had been bleached to a rather bland grey. Similarly, much of the original ornaments had lost their sheen or –in some places- had apparently fallen off entirely, and the basket underneath was badly scorched in several places, although from what I had no idea.

It was, however, very apparent that someone had been taking time out to modernise the old bird; evidence of new technology and significant upgrades were clearly visible across her entire length. While the stern of the airship was mostly occupied by four enormous propellers, it was obvious that most of the thrust was derived from two enormous turbines situated either side of the gasbag itself. Similarly, in many places the original wooden structure had been removed and replaced by metals that, from their sheen and general appearance, appeared to be similar to high-performance alloys used in IAF fighter jets.

Strangely, although the vessel seemed to be nothing more than a chop-job of old and newer technologies, I got the feeling that it was a very powerful combination. Even moored as it was, I got an intense sensation of immense power, and I wondered momentarily what it would be like to be onboard when it was going flat-out.

"What is that?" Celes, most unfairly, interrupted my daydream, "I've never seen anything like it."

"It's a dirgible," Anceleti sounded amused, "Popular form of transport about sixty years ago, if you had the cash. I wonder who owns this one?"

"Someone with cash?" I raised my eyebrows, "Incidentally, is anyone else interested in getting some coffee?"

"It certainly looks…different," the General finally conceded, "Why did they die out?"

"Haven't you ever heard of the Gradenbrack disaster?" Jade snorted, "That-"

"I've heard of that!" I said brightly.

"I know you know about it, Firma," Jade was none too pleased about being interrupted, "I _told_ you about it – and don't yawn when I'm talking!"

"Oh, sorry," I quickly covered my mouth, "I guess I'm just going into caffeine withdrawal here, what with the, y'know, lack of movement in the direction of the cafeteria."

"Point taken," Anceleti nodded, "Let's go and find ourselves some coffee, shall we? Jade and I'll look into refuelling our helicopter once we've had a short rest."

As Anceleti had suggested, the large, rusty aerodrome contained a coffee shop. Sure, the shop itself was more than a little dingy and dirty, and the coffee itself bore more resemblance to caffeine-laced bitumen than anything related to a bean, but at least I was no longer walking at sixty degrees to the horizontal.

"Easy!" Celes watched with a mildly disgusted expression as I tried to down the coffee, "This isn't a race."

"That'ff what you fink!" I replied, accidentally spraying her down with coffee in the process.

"My word - swallow!" Celes gave me a long, evil look, and with great care removed a teabag from her cup. A moment later, there was a loud 'clack' from my immediate right, and with dismay I realised that Anceleti had set his empty mug back on the table.

"Well, I win," he settled back and favoured me with an arch look, "You were so close, too."

I snorted and returned Celes' evil look, "Thanks, General,"

Celes looked between Anceleti and me with a faintly disbelieving expression, but finally shook her head and turned to face Anceleti's number one, "You were talking about the Gradenbrack disaster. What happened?"

"Well, um..." Jade seemed surprised at the sudden question, but quickly rallied, "Let's see…did you know that the dirigibles were originally invented in Jidoor?"

"I do now," Celes shrugged.

"Hang on sec," I frowned at my superior officer, "You said that the Gradenbrack was made in the Empi-"

"Wait," Anceleti cut in.

"Thank you," Jade gave me a nasty look, "Anyway, about ninety years ago the Jidoorans came up with this design for an aircraft that could travel long distances with fairly large payloads."

"This was before the day of large fixed-wing aircraft or transport helicopters, so it wasn't exactly a small thing," Anceleti muttered to me, and instantly became the victim of Jade's lethal gaze, "Hey, it needs pointing out."

Jade shook her head, "Anyway, the Empire decided that it wanted to have a piece of the action, mainly so it could transport important people or equipment between places like Vector and…and…" she broke off suddenly, and stared blankly into her coffee cup.

"Maranda," Anceleti finished quietly. Jade nodded, and suddenly downed the rest of her coffee before slamming the mug down on the table hard enough to make me jump.

"Anyway," she continued forcefully, "The Empire managed to poach one of the original inventors of this new aircraft-"

"-Gradenbrack-"

"Yeah, and they got him to make them an absolutely enormous dirigible as a demonstration of amazing Imperial engineering. Got what they wanted, too; a huge, two hundred meter long blimp easily capable of outrunning practically anything else that the Empire had at the time. The arrogant bastard even named it after himself."

"So what went wrong?" Celes leaned in, "The back-story was absolutely wonderful, but what actually _happened_?"

"It caught fire during landing," Jade said simply, "Nobody really knows why, although everyone's got different opinions."

"It was filled with hydrogen, powered by diesel, and waterproofed with a combination of rocket fuel and powdered aluminium. It was trying to land during a storm, too," Anceleti shrugged, "Take your pick."

"The whole thing wouldn't've been so bad if there hadn't been such a huge crowd of people nearby watching the damn thing come in," Jade shook her head, "'Course, when it started going up they all ran – well, stampeded. That's where the disaster really comes in. About twenty people died on the dirigible itself, Gradenbrack included, but almost seventy people were crushed to death in that sudden rush to get out of the way."

"That was it for the dirigible, at least as far as the Empire went," Anceleti said, "They turned their attention to fixed and rotary-wing aircraft, but I suppose someone out there wasn't willing to give up on them quite yet."

"I heard there was another crash about three years ago, actually," Jade said soberly, "Some fool managed to laminate themselves to the side of a mountain up near Kohlingen. 'Locals didn't even find the body of the pilot."

"Whoops," I muttered, and downed the rest of my coffee, "Mechanical failure, right? Even _I_ know that large geological features aren't about to move for my benefit."

"Who knows?" Jade spread her hands, and then her gaze shifted to a spot about a foot above my head, "Did you want something?"

Slowly, Anceleti and I turned around to give our full attention to this newcomer. From what I could tell, he appeared to be a reasonably tall man – maybe a couple of inches shorter than Anceleti, and sported a frighteningly similar mop of long, snow-white hair. Underneath the hair was a timeless, rather nondescript face that made it difficult to place either his age or his home country, although for some reason I had a vaguely niggling feeling that I had seen him somewhere before.

Although his face was rather unremarkable, the same could certainly not be said for his clothing. While it was perfectly reasonable for him to be wearing an overcoat in this weather, I couldn't quite make the leap between a reasonable winter jacket like Anceleti's and the one that the stranger was wearing, which appeared to have considerably more in common with the trench coat of an eighth century commodore.

"Are you looking at something?" he asked, catching my gaze. Frustratingly, his accent was _also_ hard to place, but I had absolutely no trouble in picking up the challenging tone.

"Um…nice coat," I said, and gave him a disarming smile. Of course, considering how little sleep I'd had recently, my grin came over as more deranged than an attempt at a charm offensive.

"That's high praise," the man said blandly, "Especially coming from a barefoot man wearing a set of scrubs and a bright yellow hat."

Anceleti blinked in surprise, "That accent - you're from Jidoor? You don't look like you're from Jidoor."

'Looks can be deceiving," our new friend snorted, "Your fashionable friend here has a Vectoran accent, but he certainly doesn't look the part."

"Well, I _am_ sorr-" I began, but was immediately railroaded by Celes.

"Is there a point to this interruption?" she asked coldly, "Or have you just wandered over to make small talk?"

The man stared at Celes for an uncomfortably long time before a sudden smile flashed across his face, "I do apologise for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Setzer Gabbiani; perhaps you've heard of me?"

"No," Celes replied evenly, "Should I have?"

"I think I've heard of you," Jade cut in, "You wouldn't happen to be that blackjack-playing, world-traveling, casino-dwelling free spirit, would you?"

Setzer smiled thinly, "The very same."

"Works for the Empire, too," Anceleti nodded, "I remember now; you used to do a bit of haulage with the Eighth, right?"

"That's where I saw your picture!" I clicked my fingers, "It was up on the duty roster the first day I joined the Air Force!" I looked down, and grinned, "You haven't changed your coat in six years? Even I get issued coats more often then that."

The smile vanished, "Well, it appears that I'm well known, if perhaps not for the right reasons."

"Maybe," Jade's expression turned slightly suspicious, "What's your interest with us, anyway?"

"Oh, yes," Setzer nodded, "I heard you talking about that disaster of three years ago. I'm surprised that news traveled this fast south."

"Well, its not every day that an airship collides with a mountain," Anceleti pointed out, "They're a dying breed, after all."

"Certainly," the gambler sighed, "There's never been a dirigible the equal of the Falcon, and there probably never will be."

"Oh?" I considered this for a second, "Couldn't you get someone to bang a new one together from the schematics?"

"The schematics went down with the ship, along with its architect," Setzer paused for a moment, "She always was far too defensive of her designs."

"So, how's your airship doing?" Anceleti gave a very strong impression that he was about ready to move on with this conversation, "I assume that is _your_ airship moored out front."

"The Blackjack?" Setzer actually smiled properly this time, "It's still ticking over; if you're interested in that sort of thing."

"We…may be," Celes said, in a rather strange tone of voice that immediately made me suspicious, "Is it a fast ship?"

"Fast ship?" the airship pilot laughed shortly, "It made the Kohlingen run in twelve minutes!"

"Would you care to put that in real terms? That means nothing to me."

"The Blackjack's outrun Imperial patrols," Setzer spread his hands, "I'm not talking about the regional squadrons, mind you; I mean the elite flights around Vector. She's fast enough for me, my lady."

"Just wait until they arm the Wriqurix," I muttered to Anceleti, who gave me an amused look, "He'll be in for a nasty shock soon, I'll bet."

"What was that?" Setzer gave me a suspicious look.

"Absolutely nothing," I said, with an innocent, earnest smile.

The gambler stared at me long and hard, but eventually shook his head and returned his attention to Celes, "Might I ask you why you're so interested in my ship?"

"Hmm," Celes' gaze alighted on me for a few moments before returning to Setzer, "Could you leave us alone for a few moments? I think we need to talk."

"Okay," I said, once I was certain Setzer was out of earshot, "Spill the beans, Celes; what're you thinking?"  
"What do you think I'm thinking?" Celes replied, "This is almost too good to be true! We don't need to worry about finding you transport across the sea – we can just get Setzer to do it for us!"

"Hang on a second," I raised my eyebrows, "You're proposing that I get onboard an airship _knowing_ about Gradenbrack and the Falcon? I'm an acrophobe as well, if you hadn't forgotten!"

"I suggest you grin and bear it then," Celes said, and added a little dig, "For _her_ sake."

"It's a fairly elegant solution, General," Anceleti agreed, "But I don't know how much trust you can place in someone who lives to gamble. If he decides there's winnings to be had you can be damn sure he'll sell us out."

"Then we'll have to pay him to keep him quiet," Celes said sternly, "Besides, I don't think anyone would want to wrong foot him, don't you think?"

"I wasn't actually proposing to tell him anything about…you know," I said shortly, well aware that Setzer was probably trying to eavesdrop.

"Well, I wasn't suggesting that you actually tell him either!" Celes snapped, "I'm just pointing out that you'll be able to trump him easily in the event that he tries anything clever."

"Okay – fine. Let's say he drops me off at South Figaro and then decides to sell us all out. I'll be on the Northern Continent, but that still leaves all of you high and dry," I pointed out, "That's not really fair."  
"I don't think the last two days have been fair to anyone," Jade snorted, "Eventually you just have to accept it."

"Okay, okay, fine," I sighed, "How're you going to get him to take the job, anyway? I bet you that he's going to turn us down as quickly as he possibl-"  
"Setzer?" ignoring me, Celes summoned the loitering gambler back over to the table, "We may have a job for you."

"Is that so?" the gambler's eyebrows went up, confirming my fears, "Well, I'm afraid that I no longer take haulage jobs. Changed fortunes, you understand."

"Who said anything about haulage?" Celes looked around the table, "Do any of us look like we have enough worldly possessions to require the services of an airship?"

"You have a point," Setzer conceded, "However, the answer's still no. I have as much money as I possibly need; what reason would I possibly have to take you up on your generous offer?"

"Because it interests you," Anceleti settled back, "Let's face it; I doubt we have enough money between us to be able to simply _buy_ your services, right?"  
"Well, I…" Celes began, but was quickly quietened by Jade.

"You're probably correct," Setzer smiled wryly, "The Empire's made me a rich man, after all."

"Glad to hear it," I muttered.

"So, let me ask you a question," the Major steeped his fingers and leaned back, "How much longer do you think that's going to last?"

"Excuse me?" Setzer blinked.

"It's a simple question, Mr. Gabbiani," Anceleti smiled humourlessly, "I know that the Empire doesn't really like a privateer like you operating in its airspace – I mean, heck, I can't even count the number of my friends who've been ordered to splash you in the past. Looking at the damage on your ship outside, I'd say they're getting closer too."

"Your point being?"

"My point is that despite the ever-present risk of being chewed to pieces by an IAF squadron, you keep on coming back. Why? Is this where the money is?"

Setzer suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It isn't," Anceleti replied bluntly, "But you see, my unfashionable protégée here reminded me of something. The Blackjack may be capable of outrunning the current generation of Imperial fighter aircraft, but here's the thing," he leaned in, a nasty smile on his face, "The IAF is upgrading. There's a new generation of fighters – supersonic fighters, no less- on the horizon, and you can be sure as damn that when those airplanes get up in the sky you're going to be the first person they come after."

"I don't understand why you're telling me this," Setzer said stiffly, "In fact, I don't know why I'm standing here listening to this."

"Because you're interested in information, right?" Anceleti shrugged, "We can't _buy_ your services, but I can tell you that refusing to help us out here and now is going to result in you getting yourself grounded for certain."

"Plenty of other sky in the world," the gambler smiled his thin smile, "It may not be, as you say, 'where the money is', but to be honest I have quite enough of that already," with this, Setzer turned and began to walk away, "I'm afraid that I will have to take my leave before this storm hits, so I believe I will bid you all safe journey, wherever you're planning to go."

"Damn! He's leaving!" I gave Anceleti a quick look, "I think you scared him off."

"Well, I'm not about to give up," Celes stood up, "Come on, Firma, he just needs a little more prodding."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows, "You want me to-"

"-stay quiet and look like a kicked puppy, yes," the General replied shortly, "I'm sure you can handle that."

The ever-encroaching storm was still inching closer to the airport when we emerged from the dingy little café, and some very light drizzle was beginning to fall from the clouds scudding ahead of the large, black mass.

"Let's get this over with before this storm actually gets going," I muttered, "I can't believe even Anceleti would want to risk taking off in this kind of weather."

"Indeed," Celes agreed, and raised her voice to direct the retreating back of Setzer, "Mr. Gabbiani! A word, if you please."

"I believe we've both said enough," Setzer replied, "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"I don't think you're really listening," Celes commented, "You know what the Major said is true, Mr. Gabbian-"

Setzer wheeled around to face us, "I've been listening a lot closer than you think, General Chere," he said sharply, and we both caught the slight flicker in her expression, "Needless to say, I find it curious that the Empire's newest general is fraternizing with a Major, his second, and an escaped lunatic-"

"-hey!" my cry went largely unnoticed.

"-in a backwater cantina on the wrong side of Tzen, especially so shortly after her stunning victory at Maranda. I'm thinking that there's a lot of people who would find that similarly curious, don't you agree?"

"Are you blackmailing me?" Celes' expression remained bland, but I caught the slight shift in her stance.

"Only if you keep on pestering me, my lady," Setzer's thin smile returned, "Allow me reiterate; I am nobody's carrier. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"I don't think so," Celes said calmly, "The only way you're going anywhere is if you're taking him-" she indicated me with a jerk of her head, "-with you."

Setzer's eyebrows went up, "Are you blackmailing me, my lady?"

"No, I'm not," she replied sharply, "I'm directly threatening you, because in all honesty I'm getting quite tired of bandying around sweet nothings while there's more important things at state!"

"Ah, would you be talking about the things that are important to you, or to me-"

"I'm talking about the things that are important to all of us, you selfish bastard!" Celes snarled, "Maybe these people you were talking about are going deaf in their old age, but _surely_ you're aware that there are very dangerous elements within the Empire that are going to end up dragging everyone into who knows what if they aren't stopped!"

"There have _always_ been fringe elements in the Empire, my lady," Setzer smiled patronisingly, "I hardly think that now is the time to start worrying about them-"

"Have you heard about the terrorist attack on IAF Wareydon yet?" Celes said suddenly.

"You mean the bomb blast that killed the Mage Knights?" Setzer inclined his head, "Of course."  
"Do you know who carried out the attack?"

"Nobody is certain yet, but I've heard a few rumors that it was probably a Returner attack," the gambler snorted, "It'll be bad news for Figaro if it is."

"And if I told you it wasn't Returners?" Celes asked.

"No doubt you're about to suggest that these 'dangerous elements' carried out the attack to curry favour amongst moderates with the eventual aim of initiating hostile relations against Figaro," Setzer snorted, "I'm sorry, general, but I expected better from you."

"That's an impressive line of reasoning," I blinked, "'better then what I came up with, anyway."

"Excuse me?" Celes sighed, "Firma, sometimes I swear you're the most scatterbrained person I-"

"Firma?" I suddenly found myself the subject of Setzer's gaze, "Are you telling me that _this_ person is one of the Mage Knights?"

"Congratulations, Celes," I gave the chagrined general an irritated look, "Do you think you might want to tell him anything else?"

"Well, I suppose that explains the bright yellow hat," the gambler's eyes narrowed, "I assume then that it wasn't your body that they recovered from the rubble."

"Obviously not."

"Setzer, listen," Celes said forcefully, "The Empire is lying to you. It was _not_ Returner forces that tried to kill Firma and his sister; it was a unit under the command of General Kefka who were trying to mask what was _actually_ going on. I know it sounds like an insane conspiracy theory, but it's true."

There was a long silence, and Setzer continued to survey me with a long, careful stare that I didn't care for one bit.

"One thing troubles me," he said finally, "If this _is_ Firmament, I find it hard to believe that a general in the Empire would be actually _assisting_ his escape from the homeland. Surely you must know how much damage his defection will do to the image of the Empire."

"Yes, I know."

"I have no doubt that Imperial Intelligence will link his disappearance to you very, very quickly, too," Setzer continued, "You could end up facing a firing squad, and that's only if you're lucky."

"Yes," this time, Celes appeared to steel herself, "I know."

"So why? What do you possibly have to gain from this situation?"

"Weren't you listening?" Celes replied sharply, "The Empire has over one hundred million people living in it; Figaro has about the same. Do you know how many of those people are going to die if Kefka manages to manipulate us all into an intercontinental war?" her eyes glittered dangerously, "I may have failed to prevent his men killing all those Marandese people, but you can be damn, _damn_ certain that I'm not about to let him get loose on the rest of the world!"

There was another long silence.

"I...see," Setzer said slowly, "And you genuinely believe that this absent-minded, hyperactive, discordant Mage Knight is going to be the one to stop your war?"

"He'll come through," I raised my eyebrows at the rare compliment, "Besides, it's not just Firma – it's all that political capital that comes with the Mage Knights. His sudden departure might just blunt any invasion plans long enough for me to get to General Leo. Hopefully he'll be able to make everybody see sense."

"That's quite a gamble, my lady," Setzer paused for a moment, and nodded, "Fine, I'll throw my chip into the pile – but only to South Figaro. After that, Mage Knight, it's entirely up to you."

"Really? You're actually going to help?" I couldn't help but smile slightly, "Thank you."

"Life was getting boring," Setzer shrugged, "Besides; your Major was right. This part of the world is getting a dangerous place to do business in. I'd rather not see that happen on the Northern Continent. Okay-" the gambler squared his shoulders and looked me straight in the eye, "-I can't imagine you have many goodbyes to make or anything that you absolutely have to retrieve. I'll be leaving in ten minutes, ahead of that inbound storm-" he gave the sky a dirty look, "-so be here by then, because I'll be leaving regardless. Understood?"

"Perfectly," I nodded, and turned back to the cantina, "Well, I think I'll go and get another cup of coffee."


	9. Chapter 8: Pontoon

**Chapter Eight – Pontoon**

Does anyone else feel sometimes that life is just out to get them? Maybe it's just me, but if I look back over my life I think I've had maybe five minutes, tops, where karma decided to give me a break and not, for example, conjour up a swarm of killer wasps or some officious, infuriating bureaucrat specifically for my benefit. According to religious luminaries the purpose of my unending suffering is to give me an opportunity to ascend to some higher level of existence, but to be perfectly honest I suspect that all that'll happen is that the wasps will be issued machineguns and that whiny desk clerk at the post office will be replaced by a ravenous grizzly bear trained to maul me on sight. Personally, I think I'd rather stay where I am, thanks.

Do I seem particularly cynical today? I damn well hope so, 'cause I just got another one of those oh-so-helpful letters from my dear, _dear_ sister which (to paraphrase) says something along the lines of 'Dear Firma, Why aren't you done yet? I'm going to break your fingers! -Love, Terra' with one of those little 'x'es that women appear to be genetically compelled to append to any and all correspondence. Now, I found this letter really, really annoying, not because she threatened to snap off my digits (which she didn't; I made that bit up) but simply because I'd hoped that she'd forgotten about this little thing entirely. You see, Terra often comes up with these little hare-brained schemes, but normally they only stay in her head long enough for me to sustain serious injury; in this case, I just wanted to run out the clock and return to the lazy, happy days of mind gaming the most recent batch of barely-competent students and studying for my pathology exams. Unfortunately, it looks like karma is still fully operational.

Sod.

"Right," I said, and put down my coffee mug with a dull 'clink', "I should probably get going in a sec. Setzer'll be waiting for me."

Very little had happened since Setzer had made his decision. This was good for me, as it gave me a chance to get back to the dingy little cafe and get in some serious coffee drinking time. It had, after all, been almost two days since my last proper nap, and even that had been rudely curtailed by Terra and her favourite boot. Caffeine was, by this point, the last roadblock between me and a long coma, but after three cups of the horrible, horrible Tzenian gunk I was willing to float the opinion that a couple years unconsciousness was possibly preferable to the continuation of my escapades.

"Mmm," Celes gave me a long look, but then went back to drumming her fingers listlessly on the tabletop. She hadn't really said much after laying into Setzer, but I knew her well enough to know that she was very, very anxious. That wasn't particularly surprising, considering that she had to go and talk to the Emperor so soon after breaking me out of Kefka's personal oubliette, but still...

"Hey, guys," I gave my three companions a quick look, "Why don't we all just jump ship? I, uh, don't really see the point in you guys going back to Vector; especially since there's a better than average chance that Kefka's goons'll've found that I'm, um, nowhere to be found. Why stick your head in the lion's mouth like that?"

"Because I _have_ to," Celes sighed, and steepled her hands, "There's no chance that General Leo will listen to me if I've disobeyed a direct summons from the Emperor, and without him on board I can't possibly do anything to affect your situation; I'd just be vetoed straight away by Kefka."

"Mmm," Anceleti nodded, "You'll have to be careful what you say, General. I'd be surprised if Kefka wasn't whispering in the Emperor's ear after the attacks last night, and I'm fairly certain that him or someone in his little clique will almost certainly have reasons to be suspicious of you. If they manage to-"

"I know, Major," Celes gritted her teeth, "Believe me, I'm fully aware of what I'm walking into."

"I hope so," I said, and stood up, "Anyway, I really have to go. I...suppose I'll see you all in a couple of weeks, right?"

"You're optimistic," Anceleti snorted, but shook my hand nonetheless, "Good luck, Firma."

"Yeah," Jade put in, "I...hope you find your sister."

"Hold on a moment," Celes withdrew a large, black object from her pocket and held it out, "Take this. You'll probably need it."

"What? Wait, your wallet?" I blinked, "Wait a second, you're giving me your-"

"You're going to need funds to get around Figaro, Firma," Celes' tone was curiously forceful, "That should manage to keep you going for a while, provided that the Gil is still legal tender in Figaro."

"It was two months ago," Anceleti remarked, "Doubt you'll find much to spend it on, though. Their beer is frankly piss."

"My gods, Celes...how much do you carry around with you in here?" I withdrew one of the larger notes, and held it up to the light to make sure I wasn't dreaming, "I've never seen so much money in my life! How much do you get paid, anyway?"

"Enough," the General smiled mirthlessly, "That reminds me; I'm going to want both my money and my hat back, so you'd better...be in a position to return them to me. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, General," I paused for a moment, "'Course, if you manage to get yourself topped by Kefka or Imperial Intelligence then I'm damn well keeping it, agreed? So, uh, don't."

"I'll try," the General gave me a strange look, and nodded, "Well, good luck."

"Yeah, you too."

Thankfully, Setzer hadn't buggered off with his airship during my awkward goodbyes, but it had to be said that he was definitely looking rather annoyed by the time I emerged from the cafe.

"I gave you ten minutes," he snorted, "What on earth took you so long?"

"Um, sorry," I replied, "I was savouring my coffee."

"Really," Setzer gave me a disbelieving look, "If you normally drink coffee the way I saw you drink it twenty minutes ago, I rather doubt that you've even know the meaning of the word. Still, we need to get going before that storm blows in," with that, he gave the yellow skies a dirty look, "Do you have everything you need?"

"I don't know about _that. _I mean, I'll probably need some footwear, and a coat, and some-"

The gambler sighed, "Do you have everything you _brought with you_?"

"Hmm," I considered this, "My hat, some scrubs, and about three hundred gil in loose change. Yeah, that covers it. Oh, and Cele-"

"Fine!" Setzer gave me a somewhat puzzled glance, "Are you _quite_ certain that you're one of the Mage Knights? The world-feared jewels of the Imperial Army?"

"Why do you ask?" I raised my eyebrows, "Don't I look the part?"

"No," Setzer shrugged, "Not really. I suppose that's going to work in your favour, though. I rather doubt your hunters are looking for a grubby, scrawny man in a vile yellow hat-"

"You think it's horrible too?" I perked up momentarily, "I _tried _te-"

"-and _in any case_, if you keep your head down I'll be surprised if you encounter much trouble," Setzer paused, "Provided you manage to keep a rein on that tongue of yours."

My initial thoughts about the airship was that we were going to have to climb aboard via one of the nets hanging off the side of the hull, but thankfully the designer had clearly decided that that was a bad idea at an early stage. Instead, there was a small door approximately halfway down the length of the gondola, although as far as I could tell there was no means of opening it from the outside. As we approached the door, however, Setzer dug into one of his coat's deep pockets and produced, with a certain amount of grandeur, a long, slim card with a magnetic stripe on one side.

"Swipe locked?" I nodded approvingly, "Swanky. They had swipe locks in the Magitek Research Facility, but they had to get me a key 'cause I kept on accidentally scrambling the strip-"

"Tell me, do you always talk this much?" Setzer asked wearily, as he inserted the card into a thin receptacle. There was a resounding 'thud' as some very-heavy sounding bolts slammed back into the door, and then it swung silently inwards.

"After you," the gambler inclined his head courteously.

"Thank you," I stepped inside the airship, and found myself in a rather unimpressive wooden hallway, "You know what? I think I'm being talktive 'cause I'm _slightly_ nervous about being on an airship despite being pretty damn scared of heights and my sister being kidnapped and then there's that little fact that I've probably got Imperial Intelligence breathing down my neck and now Celes is going to-" I stepped out of the little hallway and into the main cabin of the airship, "-oh, bugger _me_."

To say it was grand was putting it lightly. In retrospect, the cabin itself was probably so covered in gold and gleaming bits and bobs that it was more garishly ostentatious than...well, a good analogy doesn't come to mind, but remember; I was an eighteen year old trainee Sentinel who was (by all accounts) earning less than the average train-station tramp, so the presence of _any_ gold and glittery things was enough to make my brain stop dead.

Basically, the main room of the Blackjack was the entire reason why it had earned its reputation as the World's Flying Casino, and that's because it was, well, a fair sized massively over-gilded, uh, casino. Although I had only gambled enough to know that I was shockingly bad at it, I could still recognise a blackjack table when I saw one, even if it was covered in materials worth more than all my worldly possessions combined. It wasn't the only one, either; from my vantage point I could see several roulette wheels, a craps board, and something involving balls in a bigger ball whose purpose was beyond my comprehension. The carpet itself was some sort of deep, shag-pile affair that felt positively amazing to my sore, battered soles, and I took a moment to dig my toes into the glorious warmth underfoot.

"Impressed?" Setzer asked, "It certainly seems to have rendered you speechless."

"You need a jazz band," I said numbly, recalling my own experiences in Vector, "It's not a proper casino if you don't have a jazz band. And a guy who sets himself on fire. Furthermore, why is _everyone _so much wealthier than me?"

"Way of the world, I suppose," Setzer stepped past me into the casino proper, then paused, "Wait one moment – sets _himself_ on fire?"

"Well, um, not exactly, I suppose," I took a moment to curse my natural honesty, "There, uh, was this guy juggling at the casino in Vector when we were there a couple of years ago, and...well," I scratched the back of my head, "Terra'd had a couple of drinks and was feeling a little bored, so she decided to, uh, liven the show up a bit..."

"I see," Setzer's expression didn't change, but I definitely caught a flicker of something behind his eyes.

"She set fire to his clubs," I coughed weakly.

"Is that so."

"Suffice it to say, we're not welcome there anymore."

"Mmm," Setzer shook his head, "Well, I suppose that it wouldn't be much of a gamble if there wasn't the risk that you'd randomly blow us out of the sky. Now-" the gambler turned away again, "-follow me. Let me show you where you're going to be spending this little voyage."

Okay. I have to admit that that conversation may not have happened. Truth be told, I'm definitely on a mission to air all of Terra's embarrassing little mistakes (i.e. those with a yield under five kilotons) and this one fits the bill perfectly. I'd love to go into it in further detail, but there isn't really much more to say except to point out (to those who are interested) that the Magic and Intoxication Act of 998 was brought into force as a _direct result_ of her...misdemeanor.

I wouldn't be so sour, but as I remember it put a direct crimp on my already stunted social life for the better part of nine months. In many ways, it's just like this bloody thing that I'm writing now.

Get the picture, Tee?

Although I had secretly suspected that Setzer was going to be dumping me in some kind of hastily knocked together hammock affair, the room that he led me into was, if anything, slightly grander than the casino part of his ship. Thankfully, there was a lot less of the horrible glitz and gild that I was beginning to suspect formed an integral part of the ship, but it was very obvious even to my completely untrained eye that the wooden furniture in the room was made of some very expensive materials. There was a lot of it, too, although the majority of the room was taken up by a long, mahogany table that could comfortably seat at least six people. The rest consisted of a somewhat more casual area, containing two couches, a small bookcase, and a drinks cabinet, and a large, very comfortable looking bed.

"Don't get me wrong," Setzer said, catching my eye, "If I had the chance I'd rig you up a hammock in the cargo hold, but...well, I'd much rather you stay in my room where I can keep my eye on you."

"And I bet there's plenty of stuff in that cargo hold that you don't want me getting my hands on," I watched his expression with interest, "Oh, come _on_. You can't expect me to believe that a blackjack-playing, world-traveling, casino-dwelling free spirit like yourself doesn't keep _some_ sort of contraband in the hold. Frankly, I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"Really," the gambler gave me another appraising look.

"Yeah, and besides; are you seriously expecting me to believe that the Air Force has been ordered to bring down this airship simply because you rig your roulette wheels?" I caught the subtle flicker behind his eyes, and smirked nastily, "Oh, so you _do_ fiddle with them? Mind you, I suppose this gig doesn't pay for itse-"

"Where I come from, it's considered the height of rudeness to poke one's nose in other people's affairs," Setzer said coldly, "Especially if one is the guest of said people."

"Sorry," I held up my hands, "I'm just naturally curious."

"Terminally so, I'd say," he shook his head, "You're going to land yourself in hot water one of these days, I'm sure of it."

"One of these days? I'm already dog paddling in liquid magma, if you hadn't noticed!" I pointed out, and sat down carefully on one of the seats, "Aaah, I...oh, bloody hell, it feels good to finally get a chance to _rest!_"

"Mmm...fine, okay," Setzer stopped for just a moment, "I'll be back after I get my bird in the sky. Just sit still and don't touch anything, understood?"

"Oh, I'm not going to be moving for quite some time," I grabbed a foot and tried desperately to massage some life back into it, "Nope, I think I'll be good to go for quite a while."

That 'quite a while' lasted for all of about thirty seconds, and barely had the door clicked shut behind the gambler-cum-pilot than I was on my feet and running my fingers along the smooth surface of his rather expensive table. Foot massages were all very nice, but I was certainly not one to believe in happy coincidences, and I was having definite trouble swallowing the idea that someone so unbelievably helpful had happened to be in the same tiny cafe in the same airport in the same part of the world at the same time as I was desperately requiring aid. Something, as far as I was concerned, stunk, and before we went any further I was damn well going to find out what was going on.

An examination of all sides of the table revealed no little secret compartments or false covers that might contain any incriminating documents, so I turned my attention to the more casual area of the stateroom. It was almost certain that Setzer had a safe containing his most valuable bits and bobs, and as he had said himself information could be particularly profitable if delivered to the right hands – therefore, I concluded, if he had any instructions pertaining to me or the Mage Knights as a whole, he would probably be keeping it hidden somewhere safe in this room.

From far above I could hear a distant, rhythmical thudding noise, which I knew from experience to be the sounds of rotor blades slowly kicking into action. I had probably three, maybe four minutes before the airship was at the point where he'd be happy with it and then Setzer'd be straight back here to check on me. Best to work fast, then.

Of the couches and the bookcase, the bookcase was far more likely to conceal some sort of false compartment, but I had a nagging feeling that that idea was based rather heavily on some of Terra's cheesy detective novels. Still, I went hand over hand across each row of books, pulling them out and examining them to ensure that they were genuine and not, for instance, some sort of hidden switch for the old revolving bookcase trick. After a couple of minutes of this, however, I was forced to conclude that if Setzer's books held a secret, it was beyond my ability to discover it. Besides, that wouldn't be where someone like him would put their most valuable stuff, right? _Everyone_ would check the bookcase first, right? If he was smart, he'd put it somewhere far less obvious..

I quickly clicked the bookcase shut and padded over to the two innocent-looking couches. Just like the rest of the room, they were ornate, but tastefully so; they were both made of the same dark mahogany as the table, and both them and their cushions were upholstered with an incredibly soft, luxurious blue fabric threaded with gold and silver. With an annoyed frown I dropped to the floor and traced my hands across the underside of both couches, but was forced to conclude that there was nothing there. Time was running out, and I decided that if I didn't find his little hideaway within the next thirty seconds or so it would be best to give up rather than risk discovery. With that in mind, I rolled out from underneath one of the settees and jumped to my feet, desperately wondering where that damned gambler kept his bloody documents!

For no apparent reason, my gaze came to rest on one of the rather unremarkable cushions. Yes, it was large – but certainly not large enough to hold all the valuables that someone like Setzer had without a doubt collected while touring the world...but surely things like that would clank and make a hell of a racket when the cushion was picked up – and that wasn't even considering that someone would immediately notice that the cushion was rather heavier than expected...

...on the other hand, your average A4 document didn't clank or weigh more than a feather...and it would certainly be flexible enough to withstand any amount of the scrunching and sitting on that the cushion would likely encounter throughout its life...but _still!_ Shrugging, I grabbed one of the cushions and unzipped it to take a look inside.

On my third cushion I finally found what I was looking for. Just visible, in amongst the cushion's padding, was a slim white container approximately the same dimensions as an average envelope.

"Oh, clever," I murmured to myself, and pulled it out to take a closer look. The box itself was rather unremarkable, and there were no identifying marks or security devices on the cover to suggest that it held anything of any particular import. Still, people didn't go randomly stuffing things in cushions without a good reason, so...

I took one careful step backwards and held the box out at arm's length before slowly separating the top and the bottom, ever mindful for any clicks or subtle shifts that indicated some sort of nasty little surprise going off. A moment later, however, I had the top off revealing, as I had half-suspected, all the documents inside. A cursory glance at the header and name of the topmost correspondence revealed nothing of any relevance to me, and I knew that I wasn't going to be able to spend any more time poring over his secret goods; for now, I'd just have to wait for another chance.

"Right," Setzer said, when he re-entered the room a couple of minutes later, "We're well clear of the airbase now. Nothing between us and South Figaro, now."

"That's good at least," I had managed to retake my seat before my gracious host had returned to the stateroom, and was once again attempting to rub some life back into my feet, "Let me tell you, though; I'll feel so much damn better once I've gotten some bloody life back into my bloody feet."

"Do your feet still hurt?" Setzer's voice was one of complete disinterest, but he took up the seat across from me nonetheless, "They're awfully pale; you may have mild frostbite."

I gave him an even look, "Maybe you hadn't noticed, but I'm practically the poster-child for albinism. I'm sure they'll be fine once the blood starts flowing again."

"Maybe you should visit a doctor."

"I _am_ a doctor," I replied irritably, "'Least ways, I will be if I ever get all my training done. I suppose that's going to be on the back burner for a while, though."

"I thought Silver Sentinels weren't considered doctors," Setzer pointed out, "Well, they aren't outside the Empire."

"They aren't _in_ the Empire, either," I said absently, as I moved onto foot number two, "There's conversion courses you can do, though, and we're always popular in A&E."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

There was a long, awkward silence while I flogged some warmth back into my toes. Eventually, however, I got bored of that and decided to move onto a new subject.

"So," I stared the gambler straight in the eye, "Why'd you decide to take me on board? I mean _really_."

Setzer blinked, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you weren't going to originally, were you?" I inclined my head, "So, what convinced you to change your mind?"

Setzer paused for a moment, "Well, let's just say that your group suddenly became just that little bit more interesting."

"Really," I said flatly, "That's it, is it?"

"It is."

"Okay...so what, _precisely_, made us suddenly that 'little bit more interesting', then?" I said, rolling my eyes, "Crikey, you aren't half making this hard for me."

"May I remind you that I'm putting my life and my livelihood in some considerable risk taking you on?" he said, "I don't recall 'answering any and all questions' being included in my act of charity."

"On the other hand, what do you have to lose, eh?" I smiled brightly, "I mean, why on earth _would_ such a clearly wealthy, well-off roulette-rigging, world-robbing, contraband-smuggling free spirit such as yourself put all of this at risk just so I don't have to get my feet wet?"

"Didn't I just tell you the answer to that?" Setzer said irritably.

"Apparently not."

"I fail to see how it was my fault if you weren't listening. As I said, your group suddenly-"

"-became just that little bit more interesting – yes! For heaven's sake!" I threw up my hands, "Fine, stonewall all you like."

"That's exceedingly generous of you," Setzer smiled his thin little smile, "I believe I shall. In any case, from here it will probably take us about a day and a half to cross the ocean, depending on whether or not we have to make any detours around poor weather."

"That's not bad," I said approvingly, "It'll take a ship about ten days to make that trip, wouldn't it?"

"Close to. I assuming you want to get to where you're going as fast as possible?"

"Well, any time shaved off here is going to be helpful in the future, I'd imagine. I don't know how much it's going to keep me ahead of Imperial Intelligence, though; I know that they've got a lot of agents in Figaro..."

"Definitely," Setzer agreed, "I think you should probably keep that horrible little hat of yours pulled down tight. Get a change of clothes as fast as you can, too – and no, giving away free clothing was also not included in this charitable venture. As far as we're both concerned, I didn't make this voyage."

"Damn," I bit my lip, "Still, I suppose I can't do too much about that now. Do you mind if I kip out on the floor? I really should catch up on my sleep."

"Be my guest," the gambler graciously indicated a small patch of clear rug over by the window, "As long as you're asleep, I don't have to worry about you poking around my stuff."

"You think I'd do that?"

"Let's just say that I'm not a particularly trusting person and leave it at that, shall we? As long as you're good, there won't be any trouble."

"Okay, okay," I held up an innocent hand, "I'll play nice."

Well, we've finally, _finally_ reached a point in this whole debacle where I got to spend some quality time (about eight hours) with the sandman, and rather than subject you to every hair-raising minute of my catatonia I've got a couple (well, lots) of things that I know I've got to go into. As with all difficult decisions, I had to have a quick chat to my advisors to find out what would be the most interesting topic to broach at this point - and it would appear that there's a general consensus that I attempt to summarise that oh-so-exciting group of people known as 'Silver Sentinels'.

If you find this boring, blame my hole punch; as usual, it had the deciding vote.

Most of you will probably have met or have at least seen a Sentinel at some point during your life-span. I mean, we're talking about a fairly large international organisation with a deep-rooted love of plain grey garments and (until three years ago) really, really inconvenient bright white cloaks. I mean, seriously, if you've missed us then you're either blind or you live in the arse end of nowhere and this is probably being used as toilet paper or somesuch.

However, despite the fact that Sentinels are known across the world it's still not unfair to say that a lot of people don't have the faintest idea what it is we actually _do_. Okay, sure, most people get the idea when you talk about impartial medical treatment, but at the same time there seems to be this general view that we're some sort of charity, and as such should be held at arms length just in case we start chasing them and their bank details down the street with heavy, heavy clipboards. Sorry, but no – there's already plenty of important charities who do a lot of very good work for free, and we're not amongst them.

The reason for that is simple; basically, the Sentinels are government-funded. Not by any particular government, mind you; but most countries will pay a not-insignificant amount to the Sentinels to ensure that in the event of an emergency (whatever that may be) legions of grey-clothed men and women will descend on the area to provide medical assistance to everyone and anyone who may have been caught up in the aforementioned fracas. It's not a bad setup, really; the governments have the resources, and the Sentinels have the best equipment and probably the most medical experience of any organisation in the world, especially when working in less-than-ideal situations. It's a system that has, historically, seemed to work.

I'll also just mention, in passing, something that isn't really obvious to people who aren't typically involved with the Silver Sentinels. Like many of the older, well-established groups around the world, the Sentinels are a group which has a fairly hefty religious component at its core. I'm not going to state anything more about that (simply because I don't want to get involved in the almighty power struggle that's brewing on the horizon) but its something that people should be aware of, especially those who're interested in its roots.

That's that, in any case. I apologise for those of you who voted in line with my stapler, and I can only promise that we will talk about scantily-clad women wrestling in mud at a later date. Remember, high fives and shouting 'woo!' will be mandatory.

Well, that seemed like about eight hours to me (and probably infinitely longer to most of you) so let's return to the hot, hot action on board Setzer's airship. Exciting, eh?

Once again, I came to with a slow yawn and a long, blissful stretch. A small part of me wondered, sleepily, why Terra had decided not to use my kidneys as an alarm clock, but it quickly came to the conclusion that she had finally gotten the hint and gone to get breakfast on her lonesome. Reassured that my kidneys were at least temporarily safe from abuse, I made a tired grab for my duvet and rolled over to get some more sleep.

It took me a few moments, of course, to realise that there was nary a duvet to be found. Somewhat confused by this turn of events, I finally opened my eyes to discover that I was not in fact in my safe, ground-level room, but rather about eight-thousand feet over some bloody enormous mass of water with no safety barrier in sight.

For an acrophobe, that was a pretty rude awakening.

"Are you quite done yet?" Setzer asked, once my yell of surprise and subsequent scramble for the nearest chair leg had run its course, "Is there _anything_ you can do without making a racket?"

"I-I-I-I," I closed my eyes and dug my fingers into the reassuringly hard chair leg. After a few moments, I got my breathing under control enough to realise that I was making an absolute idiot of myself, "I...I don't...like large, expansive views. That's all."

"Apparently not," there was a rustling noise of a page being turned, calmly, "In that case, I would stay away from that window if I were you."

"It didn't seem so bad earlier on," I retorted, and slowly managed to relax my grip on the furniture, "I didn't expect..._that_."

"The weather report said that we'd be seeing clear skies today," the gambler snorted, "If I knew in advance that you were scared of heights I would've had curtains installed."

"Well, its the thought that counts, hey?" I said tartly, and clambered slowly into a sitting position across from the gambler, "So, I guess that yesterday wasn't a bad dream after all. Or the day before that, for that matter."

"That would appear to be correct," Setzer replied blandly, and turned another page of his large, black-bound book.

"Oh, great," I put my head in my hands, "So, they really did kidnap Terra and burn down my hangar and chase us all the way to-"

"You know, this chapter is really _quite_ fascinating," the gambler continued in the same mild tones, "I had absolutely _no_ idea that there were seventeen rules regarding the placement of a comma in a sentence."

"Please, feel free to let me know if I'm boring you," I said sarcastically, "Some of us haven't had particularly great weeks."

"And some of us would like those unlucky souls to get their elbows off their expensive, recently resurfaced table," Setzer gave me a pointed look, "Look, your problems are your own, and any emotional baggage that you brought up board is something that you're going to have to sort out yourself."

"Thanks for the support," I raised my eyebrows, "Do you offer a counselling service on the side, by any chance?"

"Fine," Setzer closed the book with a snap, "I'm impressed; you've been awake barely three minutes and you've already become the most irritating thing to happen to me today. What can I do to keep you out of my hair for the rest of this trip?"

"Well, you could feed me," I shrugged, "I'm always less annoying on a full stomach. Failing that, you could always tell me the _real_ reason why you took me on board."

"You still don't trust me?" the gambler shook his head wearily, "Have you ever heard the phrase 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'?"

"Please; I wasn't born yesterday," I snorted, "Besides, that still doesn't explain why you so conveniently happened to be exactly where I needed you _when_ I needed you. Let's think about this, shall we? You've got to be one of the only people outside of the IAF who has the means to fly across the ocean, and you happen to be in that run-down hell-hole of an airport?"

"I go where the money is," Setzer said coldly, "The rich are more likely to risk their earnings, after all."

"Curious, as I don't recall giving you any cash. I seem to remember you turning down Celes' attempt to pay you too, and she earns a lot more money than I do. When they remember to hand it over, that is."

"I was referring to the large amount of your recently-paid comrades-in-arms who're garrisoned in Tzen, not your General's pathetic attempts to buy my services," the gambler smirked, as if something humorous had just occurred to him, "It's not as profitable as Vector, but at the same time I get much less...trouble."

"You mean the IAF?" I raised my eyebrows, "I can't believe this enormous, explosive flying trophy is still around if we've tried it on as often as Anceleti says."

"In all fairness, your flights haven't tried as hard as he probably thinks," Setzer's smirk deepened, "I suspect that its simply an attempt by a wing commander to make certain that I know where I stand, rather than an actual spirited attempt to shoot me down. I _am_ popular with the rank-and-file, after all."

"I...guess so," I said hesitantly, "I wouldn't really know, though – Terra saw to that. Her and those bloody incendiary clubs..."

"You should be thanking her," Setzer said blandly, "I can tell you right now that you'd be a very poor gambler."

"Oh, really?"

Setzer laughed shortly, "Most definitely. Oh, don't give me that look – you must know it as well. Out of curiosity have you ever played poker?"

"...occasionally," I said guardedly, "There was a small group of players in my barracks; I used to join in whenever Terra started getting insufferable about her chess victories."

"Did you ever win?"

"Weeeellll, I'm, uh, still working on it," I admitted eventually, "I thought this week was going to be my chance, but of course Kefka...well, he blew-"

"I know," Setzer replied shortly, "I heard about it over the wireless. In any case, I'm not surprised that you lost, but did none of your fellow players ever show you how to conceal your emotions?"

"No...no, I don't think so," I took a moment to think about it, "I think they were spent all their time counting the chips they nicked off me. Oh, and coming up with witty nicknames for me, too."

"I think we'll forgo those, thank you very much," Setzer said, "Well, let me ask you another question; have you found my document cache yet?"

"Let me tell you, if _anyone_ calls me Sparky _ever_ -wait, what?"

"I thought so," the gambler looked, for just a moment, almost exactly like Terra on the verge of yet another checkmate, "Did you find anything interesting? Anything, perhaps, linking me to Imperial Intelligence?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't put on an air of stupidity for my benefit, Mage Knight," suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped several degrees, "I know you managed to locate my little stash. I'll admit, I'm impressed; I don't think anyone else has ever managed to do that – but tell me; did you find anything interesting?"

"...I didn't get a chance to look at the papers before you came back," I admitted slowly. Setzer seemed to relax, almost imperceptibly, "Why, was there?"

"Oh, plenty," Setzer held up a hand, "But nothing, I assure you, regarding you or your current situation."

"Should I believe you?"

"Do you trust me?"

"No, not really," I raised my eyebrows, "Given recent events, it seems to pay to be paranoid."

"A good philosophy," Setzer smiled thinly, "There's almost certainly very little I can do to convince you that I'm not throwing the game, and to be frank I don't really care enough to try. All I can say is that if you're a good, quiet passenger, there won't be any trouble. In any case, your comment about Kefka reminded me about something else. Your emperor's due to address the nation in about fifteen minutes or so, and we may be able to pick it up if you'd like to see if."

"What, all the way up here?" I frowned, "Really?"

"Maybe," the gambler stood up, "The reception's likely to be terrible, but if conditions in the ionosphere are good then we might well get _something_, at least. It certainly seems like a better use of your time than sitting up here worrying if I'm about to turn you over to the nearest Imperial agent."

"That's true," I said grudgingly.

"My cook should also be able to get you something to eat, I suppose," Setzer said, "Don't misunderstand me; I want you off my ship as fast as possible, but if you've got to be here then I may as well feed you. I didn't get to where I am by being a discourteous host, after all."

"Really? Well, thank you," I said, in a somewhat brighter tone, "In that case, I suppose we'd better go and see what the great and good emperor has to say about recent events, eh?"


	10. Chapter 9: Speech Therapy

**Chapter Nine – Speech Therapy**

You'll have to pardon me for just a second while I look back through everything and try to remember the painfully long list of 'things I promised I'd explain in good time'. Unfortunately, what with one thing or another my recent life has been simply so jammed packed with events that I haven't had five minutes to go back over my notes or even read the manual to my new typewriter, which in retrospect would probably have been quite a good idea.

You may be asking at this point exactly _why_ I have a new typewriter – on the other hand, you may not. I mean, typewriters aren't the hardiest of creatures (not the ones I steal from work, anyway) and it's not unknown for them to break down simply through overuse. On the other hand, it is _not_ usual for one to be taken out of commission by being driven through an endangered species of tree three miles from home. Somewhere, I suspect, some otherworldly being is having a great deal of fun at my expense, especially when you consider the amount the bloody forestry commission is attempting to wrangle out of me.

Everyone here should already know about the yearly hurricane that tends to turn up in South Figaro about the same time as the weather starts getting really, really good. Provided you remember to build your house out of something more resistant than papier mache and balsa wood, you're pretty much set to hunker down for a couple of days and hope that the pointy finger of chance doesn't see fit to put a palm tree clean through your front door. In fact, as a yearly routine goes it's reasonably painless, and up until this year I'd been pretty lucky – something has absolutely, uh, nothing to do with my innate abilities to manipulate the weather.

This year, however, something went a touch wrong. Can anyone guess what it is? Well, if you say 'Firma's fiancée' then, well, you're right. You've probably heard of her before, but as a reasonably famous artist rather than my...well, in _any _case, during the early days of this relationship we discovered that one thing is vitally important; an artist must have her own space. Part of this is so she can find peace and quiet and time to paint, and the second part (and far larger, in my mind) is so I don't keep on tripping over her damn colours and being asphyxiated by some of the, uh, more overpowering chemicals that she tends to use. In the end, we (by which I mean 'I') got a team of builders to erect a conservatory-type-thing in the area out back that I've claimed as my garden. I have to say that as a plan, it worked really, really well; she got her space to paint, and I got my precious, precious oxygen – everyone was happy!

You may not really see where this is going yet, but hold on. About a month ago, you see, my nearest and.. dearest started sending out a lot of correspondence for an exhibition of her work. At the time, I was absolutely elated that she needed the typewriter, because it meant that I could spend my summer doing exactly what I wanted for once – which is to say, torment students, prepare for my final set of exams, and sleep on the lawn. Once again, everyone was happy – right up until the point that Hurricane Sarcé appeared on the horizon. That's the point we all stopped clapping each other on the back and started running around like headless chickens trying to make certain that everything was squared away before it started raining farmyard animals. Unfortunately, somewhere in between packing away my fiancée's priceless exhibits and boarding up the windows I somehow... forgot about that typewriter; a fact that didn't occur to me until the wind outside was pushing eighty miles an hour and wailing like a banshee with a saxophone. Naturally, by the time the hurricane upped-and-left there was absolutely nothing left of the supposedly 'severe-weather-proof' art studio and, as it turned out, my typewriter. I'd be more annoyed about the former, but apparently the builder's house was levelled by a well-aimed tornado, so as far as I'm concerned everyone got what was coming to them.

The best bit about all of this is that it has absolutely no bearing on what's about to happen next. Nope; nothing at all – in fact, I'm pretty sure I've just managed to completely waste two minutes of your worthless, pointless lives. Unfortunately, as good as that feels I suppose I should get cracking again, so let's move on.

New typewriter, away!

Having, by now, spent a bit of time in the company of Setzer I was beginning to get a feeling that the quite ludicrous show of finery that I'd seen up until now was exactly that; a show for the public rather than a deliberate flaunting of the man's wealth. Happily, my suspicions were proved completely right the instant he led me down a corridor into a part of the ship where, I presumed, good, honest work took place. This wasn't to say that the _quality_ wasn't still present; as far as my untrained eye could see, everything still appeared to be constructed out of the best materials money could buy, but the glitz and glamour was gone, replaced with a rather more low-key demonstration of money that seemed to me to be far more impressive. At one point, the wooden floorboards gave way to thick metal grating, and upon peering through the gaps I could see countless cogs and belts whirring at break-neck speed for reasons that largely eluded me.

"What's that down there?" I asked curiously, "What's it connected to?"

"That? That's part of the propeller drive assembly," Setzer said dismissively, "Didn't your Major ever show you the innards of your airframes?"

"Of course he did," I replied irritably, a little stung by the comment, "It's just that...well, the Empire doesn't use clockwork aircraft. Technological advances, you see."

"Naturally," if Setzer was annoyed, he didn't show it, "The galley's just this way. Come on before you break something."

The galley itself had the same sense of understated elegance that I'd felt out in the corridor. Although it wasn't particularly large, it _was_ well stocked; large, steel compartments were bolted to every wall, and inside them, carefully tethered to the back, were large quantities of both perishable and non-perishable foods carefully arranged by type. Large slabs of cured meat were tied up next to two strings of large, fat sausages, which in turn was sat beside a large game bird of some description. Fresh apples, oranges, and fruit I had never seen before occupied the far side of the room, next to a large rack of spices that were, it had to be said, a complete and utter mystery to me. The centre of the room was occupied almost entirely by a large metal work surface that shone in the bright overhead lighting and left almost no room to manoeuvre around the sides; although I came to the conclusion that this would probably just make it easier to hang on should the airship encounter turbulent weather.

"Of course, its too small to supply a party in full-swing," Setzer said casually, "Normally I just outsource my catering to whoever's available in town. Now – Juisane?"

At Setzer's call, a small door to my immediate left swung open, revealing a short, balding man who I assumed to be the gambler's cook. What he lacked in height, however, he more than made up for in girth, and his friendly, jowly face seemed to exude an almost irritating level of goodwill and mirth. Unsurprisingly, he was dressed in a large, spotless white coat and apron, and as I watched he quickly snatched a large chef's hat down from a hook behind the door and crammed it on his head.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Gabbiani," the chef said, and bobbed his head respectfully before turning to face me, "Et quel est votre nom, mon ami?"

"Oh, come on! That accent _has_ to be a joke," I said flatly, "Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick?"

"Ah, oui!" the chef said, and chortled happily, "Excellent! I can see you hav-"

"That'll do, Juisane," Setzer said coolly.

"Very well, sir," the chef's accent shifted quite suddenly to the harsher tones of someone from East Vector, "What can I do for you, then?"

"Wow, I wish I could do accents," I said, impressed despite myself, "Let me guess; this is an image thing again?"

"Albrenk cuisine is known to be the finest in the world," Setzer said airily, "For some reason, some of my...clients have it set in their minds that only someone _from_ Albrook could possibly master their ways – hence the act."

"...right," I said, uncertainly, "I don't understand, but I'll take your word for it."

Setzer smirked slightly and turned back to Juisane, "Our guest here is feeling...peckish. Can you put something together for him to eat while I set up the transceiver? I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Certainly, cap'n," without further ado, Juisane herded me onto a stool and immediately set to retrieving pots and pans from their resting place under the work surface, "What can I do for you, young sir?"

"It's Fi-" I caught myself just in time, "It's fine. I'm not all that fussed so long as it isn't porridge."

"No worries there."

"Or gruel," I added, upon further consideration, "Or black pudding, or pasta, or meat loaf."

"That sharn't be a problem, young si-"

"Or snake, come to think of it," I pointed at what I considered to be a particularly suspect piece of cured meat, "That's not snake, is it?"

"Not...as such, sir," Juisane gave me a curious look, "Pardon me for asking, but you don't seem like the type-"

"We had a survival course back home, once," I said darkly, "They gave us a knife and a map and told us to get to a point about eighty kilometres away across some sodding awful terrain. I got by on foraging for a couple days, but...well, I eventually had to go hunt something down."

"And you caught a snake?"

"Well...no, actually, it caught me," I grimaced, "Damn thing ambushed me while I was looking for food. 'Course, by the time it was all said and done I had a nice big constrictor to keep me going, but...well, I don't want to..."

"Of course," Juisane started to industriously wipe around the inside of a small pan.

"Something about the way it exploded put me off snake for life..." I continued distantly, "'Least it was cooked through, though."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," I shook my head and gave the cook a somewhat forced smile, "Bad memories, y'know. So, why're you a cook onboard this airship, anyway?"

"'Pays well," Juisane remarked casually, "And I've always wanted to travel, ever since I was a little nipper."

"I suppose you would have to," I snorted, "Aren't you worried it's going to fall of of the sky one day?"

"It's a risk, young sir," the cook gave me a toothy smile, "And you don't think I'd be a gambler's cook if I didn't want to take risks, eh?"

"I, uh, see your-" my comment was cut off by a sudden, ear-piercing squeal of white noise, "Agh! What's that?"

"Sounds like the captain's turned on the transceiver," Juisane continued buffing his equipment, "The radio room's just out the door and to your left. You'll be lucky to get a signal up here, though."

"That's what I thought," I hopped down from the stool, "Be back in a tick!"

The 'radio room' itself was tiny, barely large enough for two people to crowd around the enormous array of instruments that covered the far wall. In the darkness I could just about make out Setzer's silhouette, sat in the room's only chair. From his position I gathered that he was hunched over the controls, fiddling with a couple of knobs and muttering to himself in dark tones.

"...stupid...poorly made...swear this is the last time..."

"Um, hello?" I said cautiously, "Can I help?"

"By standing well back and not touching anything? certainly," Setzer said irritably, "Just one second – there!"

"_-this is Vector Broadcasting House; the time is eight 'o' clock..."_

"Hey, you got it!" I said happily.

"We lucked out," Setzer said simply, and flicked another switch, "One second and I'll get the images, too."

There was another momentary squeal of static, and suddenly a small white circle, about eight inches across, flickered to life. It showed, for just the briefest of moments, an image of a man in a well-tailored suit shuffling his papers in front of a microphone, and then the view changed.

"_...we go now to the Imperial Palace, where Emperor Gestahl is preparing to address the nation in the wake of yesterday's terrorist attack on a military barracks, where at least thirt-"_

"It wasn't a terrorist attack," I felt bile rise up in my throat, "Kefk-"

"Be quiet and watch," Setzer said sharply, "There'll be time for commentary at the end."

The scene changed to a blurred, slightly grainy image of the ornate, marbled top of the Imperial Palace. Immediately, my eyes sought out and identified the grey-haired, moustached face of the Emperor, replete in his golden finery and red-black robes of office. Standing immediately behind him...

"Is that the infamous General Kefka?" Setzer frowned, and leaned closer, "What on earth _is_ he wearing? Is that a cravat?"

"That's Kefka, alright," I suddenly found it very difficult to keep my voice level, "I wonder where his pet assassin's got to? I thought those two were inseparable."

"Sssh," Setzer leaned back, "He's about to speak."

Slowly, Emperor Gestahl rose his hands in a large, grandiose gesture, and the distant, distorted sound of the crowd far below fell silent. There was a moment's tense silence, and then the Emperor's deep, powerful voice rang out through the air.

"_My citizens,"_ he began, _"Last night our great country suffered a great wound; for the first time in almost thirty years, the blood of our fellow countrymen has been spilled by a brutal, vicious attack against those who have given up their lives to best serve the Empire."_

"He certainly seems to believe what he's saying," Setzer said evenly.

"Well, I believe he needs to fire his scriptwriter," I muttered, "He's barely a sentence in and already I'm rolling my eyes."

"If what you've told me is true, I wonder if Kefka's told your emperor about the part _he_ played in these events_," _the gambler tapped the screen, "Too bad the reception isn't good enough to see his expression; we could learn a lot from that."

"Wait, are you insinuating that the Emperor could be covering for _Kefka_?" I raised my eyebrows, "That's ins-"

"_The pain I feel from this is great indeed, and I am sure that every one of you has felt keenly the loss of our brave servicemen in the aftermath of this most heinous attack. Allow me to offer my most sincere assurances; we shall find the perpetrators of this most...vile act, and we shall bring them to face such justice that only our great Empire can deliver. Already my most trusted agents are at work, diligently recovering the evidence that will lead us to our enemy, wherever they may be."_

"I remember the newspaper headline about the last time this happened, actually," I sighed, "Turned out they were so desperate to find a culprit that they eventually grabbed an innocent man and put him on trial – forced him to confess to everything. 'Course, the truth didn't come out until twenty-five years later. One of the greatest miscarriages of justice the Empire's ever seen, apparently."

"So they let him out after twenty five years in prison?" Setzer turned slightly to face me.

"Well, no," I snorted, "It turned out to be little hard, 'cause, well, they hung 'im. I don't think his family ever received compensation, either – oh, wait, he's starting up again."

"_To those responsible, know that the fury of the Empire shall not stop at our borders. If _any _country is found to be harbouring our enemy then our vengeance shall be direct and merciless. You have my word, we shall not permit these terrorists to go to ground as we did thirty years ago."_

"International sabre-rattling? Really?" Setzer shook his head, "The more I hear from this man, the most suspicious I get."

"_I have received a request from one of my most trusted advisers that she be allowed to oversee this operation. Given her impressive performance in handling the attempted secession of Maranda, I believe General Celes Chere will bring about a swift resolution to this current crisis."_

The screen suddenly panned to the right, revealing a small cluster of dignitaries and counsellors sitting on long benches under a small canopy.

"Is that your General down there?" Setzer said, and pointed indistinctly towards the centre of the screen. Before I could confirm it for myself, the camera suddenly zoomed right in on the young military leader, looking positively resplendent in her full dress uniform, "My word," the gambler continued, "She _is_ good looking, isn't she. You know, she reminds me of-"

"Something's wrong," I said tensely.

"What?"

"That last statement caught her off guard," I continued, "Yeah, I'd know that expression anywhere."

"What expression?" Setzer gave me an appraising look, "There's nothing there; I've based my entire livelihood on knowing what people are thinking, and...she's anxious, but-"

"I grew up with Celes," I replied sharply, "I _know_ when she's been caught off guard, no matter how well she's trying to hide it. I'll bet a week's pay that she wasn't consulted about her 'request' beforehand."

"You're on," Setzer turned back to view the action, "How much is a week's pay, by the way?"

"After tax?" I made a quick mental calculation, "Probably about twenty gil, all told."

"Seems to me like you're in the wrong line of work," Setzer snorted.

"Believe me; that's becoming quite clear," I replied darkly, and then another thought struck me, "There's something else wrong, too; I wonder what it is?"

"Well, think about where she is," Setzer replied, "The leader of one of the most powerful nations on the planet is about ten feet away from her...although, now that you mention it, there is something slightly off there."

"Look around her – everyone else looks bored silly," I gestured at the tall, gangly man to the immediate left of the general, "Look at Lofty there; he's just on the verge of nodding off, but Celes looks even more intense than normal. Come to think of it – I don't even think she's looking at the emperor."

Setzer leaned back casually, "Not bad. You've got a talent for observation."

There was a sudden shift in the camera positioning again, and once it had stopped wobbling we were once again treated to a view of the Emperor, although all of a sudden Kefka was nowhere to be seen.

"Seems like the other General left," Setzer echoed my thoughts, "Well, let's see what Gestahl has to say now."

"He has more?" I sighed, "I suppose we should humour him, shouldn't we? It might be relevant."

That, as it turned out, was quite possibly the greatest understatement of the century. For some reason, I could already feel a sense of unease building in the pit of my stomach as the emperor cleared his throat and began to speak again.

"_So far, our investigators have managed to determine that the terrorists who perpetrated this vile act had a purpose beyond causing havoc and death. It appears that they had two specific targets in mind-"_

"Yeah, no kidding," I muttered snidely.

"_-two consummate, professional soldiers, regarded by their superiors as being amongst the elite of our armed forces. I speak, of course, of our two famed Mage Knights, Private Terra Branford and Trainee Sentinel Firmament Branford. Tragically, it appears that Sentinel Branford was in his room at the time of the explosion, and his body was recovered from the ruins early this morning. Our thoughts are with his sister during her bereavement, and we offer her the sincerest of condolences in this most difficult hour."_

"Did you hear that?" I smiled humourlessly, "I'm the best of the best!"

"According to Gestahl, anyway," Setzer pointed out, "Of course, according Gestahl you're also _dead_, so his statements are at least somewhat open to interpretation."

"True – what was that he was saying about Terra?" I frowned, "Sounded-"

"_I would like to mention Private Branford's fortitude and courage in her time of mourning, and I have received news that she wishes to join the task force assigned to investigating this brutal act so that those who so callously destroyed her life can never, ever do so again. After careful consideration, I have assigned her to an elite, secondary unit operating under General Kefka."_

My stomach lurched as the camera shifted to the far right of the stage where two figures were standing apart from the rest. One of them was immediately recognisable as my favourite crazy, cravatted General, whilst the other-

"Say, is that your sister?" Setzer said suddenly.

If I was being honest with myself, I had expected something along these lines ever since the emperor had started prattling about the Mage Knights, but even so the static-filled, blurred image of Terra standing calmly on the top of the Imperial Palace shocked me to the core, and for a long, long time I just stared dumbly at the screen, unable to form any coherent thoughts.

"She looks awfully calm," Setzer said, echoing my initial impression, "Serene, even. I suppose she doesn't wake up by hurling herself halfway across the cabin, does she?"

"I-I...that..." I stuttered. The gambler had absolutely no idea how significant his snide little comment was, but to me it formed a massive part of the inherent _wrongness_ of the image, "T-T-Terra...is even worse than me at poker, y-y'know," I took a deep breath, "She's never been very good at concealing her emotions. _That-_" I gestured wildly at the screen, "-well, there's nothing there. _She's_ not there."

"What do you mean, she's not there?" Setzer half-turned in his seat to give me a confused look, "I don't understand."

"Her _personality!_" I waved my hands wildly, "It's not there! It's-"

"Calm down," Setzer said firmly, "You're saying that that isn't your sister?"

"Well, yes – but no!" I had a feeling that the gambler knew what I was on about, but I tried to put it into words regardless, "Celes mentioned that they'd used some sort of device to enslave her."

"That's...not possible. Nobody can do that."

"I didn't think so either, but about five minutes before that Terra attempted to blow our transport out of the sky with a suit of Titan Magitek Armour. _That_ was pretty damn convincing..."

"That would probably convince most people, yes..." Setzer stopped, and looked between the screen and I for just a moment, "What are you staring at?"

"...slave crown," I said hoarsely.

"What?"

"That band around Terra's forehead – look!" I pointed at a indistinct, blurry dark shape largely obscured by Terra's fringe and the poor transmission, "Celes said that they used a slave crown to force her to do...all the things she did! That thing there must be what she was talking about!"

"I suppose that _would_ explain the poker face," Setzer said, in a slightly sick tone, "That's horrendous."

There was a long, awful silence, and finally, mercifully, the camera panned back towards the Emperor, and I exhaled long and hard as my sister vanished out of shot.

"Of course," Setzer continued, "You realise that this means that Gestahl is entirely complicit in your misfortune."

"...excuse me?" suddenly, I had immense difficulty in keeping my voice level.

"There's no way he could avoid being involved; your sister's very presence is proof of that. Consider this; if Kefka _didn't_ have the full, knowing approval of his emperor, would he really, _truly_ risk parading her out in front of him in her current state?"

"I..." I struggled to find a counter for his argument, but there were none forthcoming. Kefka may have come up somewhat short on the old sanity scale, but I got the feeling I had distinctly underestimated his cunning and foresight - especially when it came to obtaining and holding onto objects, and people, that increased his own power base.

"Exactly," Setzer said, with a certain amount of satisfaction, "Besides, consider Gestahl's speech. Don't you think that he was a little belligerent in places?"

"Well, possibly..."

"And don't you think he's...what did you say earlier...oh, yes, 'laying it on a bit thick?'"

"There's just been a damn terrorist attack!" I flared momentarily, "Well, not exactly, but-"

"Would they _really_ want to advertise that fact?" Setzer pressed, "It happened on an army base; what's to stop them claiming some sort of accident? Better that then saying 'Our security is so full of holes a group of terrorists could casually walk in and kill off one of our 'elite' soldiers!', surely?"

"True, but-"

"Look at the facts," Setzer continued, "Your general claimed that you were attacked and your barracks bombed by a cadre connected very closely to General Kefka."

"...he was leading the damned assault!" I pointed out, angrily.

"Now, General Kefka is up there, along with the emperor, and your _enslaved_ sister is right alongside them; even being broadcast across the airwaves. There comes a point, Mage Knight, where you're going to have to drop your act of stupidity and actually put two and two together!"

"I know that!" I snarled, and there was a sudden warning crackle from the surrounding equipment, "Don't you think I might have figured this out myself? Haven't you considered the fact that I'm pretty _well-sodding-aware_ that Terra and I were the subject of some kind of absurd government conspiracy? Well, guess what? Now it's all down to me! I kinda doubt that Gestahl is going to let Celes out from under his thumb if he suspects that she's guilty of helping me out, y'know! _That _means that even _if_ I manage to move faster than Kefka and Terra, and even _if_ I somehow manage to rescue her there'll be nobody coming to help us! How long d'ya reckon us two'll last against the best Imperial Intelligence has to offer, eh?"

"Calm down," Setzer said, "You aren't going to help matters by-"

It was far too late for that. The stresses and strains of the past two days had taken their toll on me, and it had only been through a herculean effort that I hadn't lost it completely already. Seeing the emperor, apparently fully in league with the total bastard who had crushed Terra's will was more than I could stand, especially now that I was certain that Celes was never going to be in a position where she could fulfill her promise.

Of course, the Vector Broadcasting Company had no way of knowing this, and therefore it had no idea what effect showing another quick shot of Kefka was going to do for my already runaway temper. Immediately, I felt it shift from a raw, hot anger to a single-minded cold fury that, somehow, was far, far worse.

"I'm going to kill him," I whispered, pointing at the screen, "I'm going to _fuc-_"

The world around me suddenly blazed with golden light, and for a split-second I could see a sun-bright arc crackle between my extended digit and the screen. There was a sudden, deafening boom, and both Setzer and I were hurled out of the room into the corridor outside in a tangle of arms, legs, and chair. A moment later a second terrific 'crack' rent the air, followed by a horrific shattering noise as the screen exploded outwards in millions of tiny shards that whipped just over our heads and embedded themselves in the far wall with a reverberating thud.

Finally, there was just the tinnitus. Feeling dazed and somewhat confused, I climbed up the wall to a standing position and tried to get my bearings.

Thankfully, it appeared that I had managed to escape serious harm from the pieces of flying monitor. Even so I had still acquired a couple of nicks on an outstretched hand, and a sensitive spot on my back where I had hit the floor at some speed. Luckily, the gambler had similarly minor injuries, and as I watched he hauled himself upright and turned to regard me with an expression that was somewhere between awe and fear.

In the end, it was all too much for me; I ran.

Let's get something straight here. I don't want anyone to come away from this with the idea that I'm attempting, at any point, to push some kind of 'oh dear people don't _understand_ me, man!' angle, or indeed any sense of so-called 'angst' in the slightest. I'm not the world's most complicated guy, and like pretty much everyone else I'm quite happy to have an amicable chat by the water cooler or over a beer at pretty much any time you'd care to mention – provided, y'know, I'm not up to my eyeteeth in deadlines at the time.

The problem that I occasionally (_very_ occasionally these days) run across is people's reaction to the fact that, yes, I can actually cast magic. As far as I'm concerned it's perfectly understandable – as I said above, I wouldn't have said that I'm a particularly unusual person, and so its probably _quite_ a nasty shock to people when a situation suddenly develops that requires electroshock therapy to put it to sleep again. I mean, how _can_ you react to that? Fear's a pretty common (and very reasonable) reaction, as is a certain sense of amazement.- in fact, generally those two turn up together to a certain degree. On one occasion, I was spontaneously deified; on another, I ended up being chased down the street by an angry mob howling for my blood, which was a great pity as the pub I was in did an absolutely smashing lunch.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make here is that although I can understand people's aversion or amazement to what I essentially _am_, it doesn't mean that I particularly like it. It's just as annoying to have a sudden space cleared for you at the bar as it is to see people cross the street when they see you coming, and to be frank I'd just like people to stop it. In the case above, though, it just turned out to be the oft-mentioned straw that broke the camel's back; having just seen the full extent of Kefka and the emperor's horrible machinations _and_ having lost control myself in such a spectacular manner, it was just a little too much to have to see the self-same reaction from someone who, up to that point, had alternately treated me as a unwelcome guest and a normal person.

That's all I'm going to say on the subject; remember, we're not at home to angst here, and I'm not going to get all melodramatic for your benefit. There's far too much stuff like that as it is.

As the airship wasn't that large, there wasn't that many places for me to run to, nor did it take very long for Setzer to find me in my hiding place under one of the roulette tables. Fortunately, by then my fear-fuelled burst of anger had faded, but in its place a deep, dark sense of melancholy had settled into my bones, and was only slightly alleviated when a simple metal plate containing some strange, unidentifiable yellow stuff was shoved under my nose.

"Here, kid," Setzer said, in a carefully neutral tone, "Juisane spent good time making you this omelette; he'll be very offended if you let it go to waste now."

"...thank you," I said quietly, and took the plate out of his grasp before he could change his mind, "I'm...I'm sorry about your screen, Setzer. I lost control."

"You don't say," the gambler sounded vaguely amused.

"I'll pay for it, somehow...I-"

"I rather doubt you'll be able to pay for a full refit of my radio room, if that's what you're suggesting," Setzer laughed shortly, "Oh, for heaven's sake – come out from under that table. You look foolish under there."

Slowly, and rather hesitantly, I poked my head out from under the enamelled edge of his game board. Holding the prized meal close to my chest, I shuffled out into the gambling room and clambered unsteadily to my feet.

"Well, eat up!" Setzer gestured at the omelette. Digging in deep with my fingers, I grabbed a large chunk of the strangely-textured food and wolfed it down as fast as I could. It was delicious, and made all the more so given that it was all I had had to eat in gods-only-knew how long.

"Listen..." the gambler paused for a moment, as if not entirely sure how to proceed, "I can't say that I _like_ the idea of the Mage Knights. I mean, look at you – you're a grubby, scrawny, unremarkable person, and yet you've just managed to lay waste to my radio room with barely more than an outstretched finger!"

"Welff-" I began, with my mouth still half-full of omelette.

"On the other hand...there's Kefka. I've managed to do a good deal of business in the Empire-" Setzer's hand gestured quickly at the roulette table, "-and the idea of crossing someone like him is rather unpleasant, but I don't see how _anyone_ can sit still when evidence of what he's done is waved under their nose."

"Umm..." I polished off Juisane's carefully prepared dinner as I tried to work out how to best put my next statement, "So you're still planning on taking me to South Figaro, then? Even after I wrecked your horribly expensive radio equipment?"

"All the radio sets in the world won't help if I haven't got a ship to fly them in," Setzer replied, "...and if that mad general has his way then the day won't be far off when I won't. Consider my helping you an investment in _my_ future, and I'd rather you lived long enough to help it mature."

"You mean, stop Kefka?" I raised my eyebrows, "You're kidding, right? He could probably take me without even raising a sweat. I'm...not very good at blowing things to bits, well-" I considered this for a moment, "Living things, anyway. Besides, I haven't even considered anything like that – I just want to help Terra!"

"You'd better start giving some serious thought to it," Setzer said ominously, "From what I've heard, Kefka likes to settle his problems personally; if you manage to save your sister, you'll almost certainly become one of those problems. But...that's for the future," he said, and waved it aside, "I suggest you go and get some rest. We'll be touching down in South Figaro soon enough, and I rather doubt that you'll have much time for resting once your feet hit the floor."


	11. Chapter 10: Sweet home, Figaro

**Chapter Ten – Sweet Home, Figaro...**

Okay, so far, so good. I think we've covered just about everything important that happened on-board Setzer's twice-damned explosive death-trap, and there's really very little else I can add without going completely overboard. I know you want the facts, but to be honest _I_ just want to get back to replacing the window that got speared by an errant branch flung by Hurricane Sarcé. We've got rain predicted on Saturday, and as I happen to be sitting right beneath that window at the moment (having been chased out of the study for the foreseeable future) it would seem to be prudent to expedite this bit.

On the other hand, I suppose congratulations are in order for my dear inamorata – as to say that the opening night of her exhibition was a staggering success would be putting it mildly. However, I think I'm going to take this moment to also go off on one, because it would appear that -despite my attempts to explain this politely- a few people in the congregation s_imply did not get the message_ the first time around.

I have absolutely _no_ interest in analysing art, okay? None, nada, zip. I may be engaged to one of the rising stars of our time, but that's not because she's a great artist - it's because she's a brilliant, cheerful, wonderful woman who I ended up falling in love with. I simply do not care if the 'contrast between the sun-touched leaves and the deep blue sky' is simply wonderful - the only thing I  
care about is the painting as a whole. If it's good, then all's well with the world - if she's unsatisfied with it; well, I have to get typewriter paper from _somewhere_, you understand.  
On a similar note - I really, really hope someone hurries up and buys 'The Eye'. It's not that I think it's a bad painting, but if it doesn't get brought it it'll end up going back up on the wall behind me - and if there's one thing that distracts me from working it's the eternal gaze of my own sodding eye burning a hole in my back.

Now that we've got that all sorted out, let's move on.

In all honesty, Setzer's declaration that we'd be setting down in South Figaro 'soon enough' was probably over dramatic; as it turned out, I had enough time to surreptitiously count the money that Celes had given me (of which there was a lot) and take stock of all my other resources. Unfortunately, this took me all of about three minutes, and no matter which angle I analysed my situation from the fact remained that I was about to be dropped off on a continent that I'd never been to that spoke a language I was only passingly familiar with and whose hospitality to anyone from Vector was probably becoming more frigid by the minute. To make matters worse, I had to cross the entire bloody thing ahead of Kefka and his associated goons who were, almost certainly, using the very best transports the Empire could afford.

None of it really bore thinking about, which is why I was so relieved when a sudden shudder ran through the ship and -a moment later- Setzer knocked roughly on the door and uttered a cursory 'we're here'. Quickly, I grabbed Celes' vile hat, crammed it on my head, and headed out after the gambler.

As I emerged from the cabins onto the main deck of the Blackjack, my senses were assailed by brilliant sunshine and an intense, but not oppressive, heat. Shielding my eyes against the glare, I walked over to the balustrade and peered out over this strange new land.

We had landed in a stunningly beautiful cove, of the sort normally shown on postcards and in tourist brochures. All around us was crystal-clear water, no more than a foot or two deep and glowing brightly in the morning sun. A little way away was the beach itself; a pure expanse of speckled, pale sand surrounded almost completely by towering grey-blue stone and, in the far distance, a path leading away into thick, green forest.

It was more than just the sheer natural beauty of the place, though; the place was silent, barring a gentle, soothing sloshing of water against the hull of the Blackjack. The whole area had a feeling of total peace about it, and for a long time I just stood there drinking it in, afraid to move in case I shattered the dream.

"...wow," I said eventually. A flash of light from the water caught my eye, and I looked down to see the quick, flowing motions of a shoal of silvery fish as they darted around the hull of the Blackjack.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Setzer came up behind me, holding a coil of rope, "It's just as beautiful at night; in fact, some of my best parties have been held right here."

"I'll bet," I replied, mopping the sweat from my brow.

"You know, you're going to want to change that hat," Setzer pointed out, "People won't notice if you're wearing something to keep the sun off, but a bean hat in a tropical climate? Not such a good disguise."

"It goes well with the medical scrubs," I pointed out wryly, "I'll change my wardrobe as soon as I can."

"I would recommend that, lest you end up committed to the local Sentinel aid station," Setzer nodded, and with a series of deft moves anchored the rope to a hook on the side of the airship, "That would probably put a small crimp on your travel plans, to say nothing of breaking your disguise...anyway-" the gambler heaved the rope over the side of the airship and stood back, "-neither of us have anything to gain by standing around here, so I suggest you get going."

"What – into the water?" I gave the sparkling oceans a worried look, "Aren't there...jellyfish and...uh, ray things in there?"

"I'm sure they're more scared of you than you are of them."

"I doubt it," I sighed, and got a firm grip of the dangling line, "'Looks cold, too..."

"At this time of year? Don't make me laugh," Setzer said, "Stop complaining and get climbing!"

"Okay, okay!" I hoisted myself over the side, "Thanks for everything, by the way – and I'm still really sorry that I broke your radio."

"If you survive, we'll discuss a payment plan," the gambler laughed shortly, "Personally, I'm not going to hold my breath."

I snorted inwardly as I half-rappelled, half-fell down the side of the wooden hull, cursing the gambler with every bounce for his inability to land somewhere where I wouldn't be immediately devoured by sharks the instant I entered the water. My last curse, however, turned into an involuntary yelp as my hand slipped and I was dumped, unceremoniously, into the sparkling sea.

For just a moment, my world turned blue before I managed to gain some purchase on the smooth sands under my feet, and I surfaced spitting water and curses in equal measure.

"Well, _that_ fills me with confidence," Setzer observed from on high, "I'll just go ahead and put in an order for a new radio room, shall I?"

"Haven't you got some..." I bit my tongue on what was going to be a very poor retort, and set to work on wringing out Celes' bean cap, "You know what? Some of us have stuff to do."

With that, I mustered what little dignity I had left and began the arduous task of wading through the pleasantly warm water towards the nearby beach. Behind me, I could hear Setzer still chuckling to himself as he coiled up his damnable rope, and I made a point of fixing my full attention on the mountains in front of me, lest I heard something that managed to drive my already bruised ego to a new low.

It really _was_ a wonderful day out, I decided. Certainly, Vector had never had sunshine like this even during that last heatwave when I was half-expecting the grass to catch fire. Of course, given how badly I'd wilted in _that_ particular week, I was well aware that it would be a very, very good idea for me to be off this beach and into that forest up ahead as fast as possible before I went down with heat exhaustion. I certainly couldn't rely on that bloody smug-as-hell gambler to come and get me if I fainted on the beach, and I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction, either.

Thankfully, the sand beneath my feet chose that moment to start sloping upwards towards the beach, and I put all thoughts of Setzer out of my head as I made for some nice, firm ground.

I'd just like to point something out here, guys; note that I said 'firm ground', and _not 'terra firma'_. I know that somewhere around the globe there's some reclusive hermit with a scraggly bead and meter long fingernails who's been _dying_ for me to use this pun, but I'm just not going to do it. It's not big, its not clever, and it certainly isn't funny – and I'd like the million and one people who seem convinced that we've _never heard that one before_ to go and feed themselves to a threshing machine.

Got it?

For some reason, people seem to have this habit of falling to their knees and kissing the ground when they finally make landfall after a long period of time. I have to admit that I've never understood this process, but at this particular point in time I was willing to give it a shot, if only because I had nothing better to do. Unfortunately, I had clean forgotten that sand (if not kept under a nice, insulating layer of salty ocean water) actually gets really, really sodding hot when baked into oblivion by an uncaring sun, and as a result my first, firm foot on Figaran soil was followed almost immediately by a howl of pain as the nerve endings were seared clean off. With a hiss of annoyance, I plunged my foot back into the refreshingly cool ocean while I considered my next move.

From behind me there came a low-pitched humming noise, followed by a soft, but insistent slapping noise. Curious despite myself, I turned to see the Blackjack's props begin to turn lazily, throwing up a small spray every time a blade made contact with the water. The large blades began to accelerate, driving harder and harder into the water until slowly, awkwardly, the Blackjack began to drive itself up and out of the water, leaving a scintillating rainbow in its wake. I waved once at the departing vessel and then turned back to consider my new mortal enemy. Finally, I shook my head, took a deep breath, and started to run.

"Stupid sodding country with its stupid sodding heat and its stupid sodding lack of public transport..." I was saying, approximately an hour later. As far as I was concerned, the initial shock of seeing this beautiful, rugged country was wearing as thin as the soles of my feet, particularly considering the total lack of anything underfoot that wasn't, as far as I could tell, designed to viciously lacerate my feet as soon as I stepped on it. The deep green forest that had seemed so inviting from far off had turned out to be a rather scrubby little affair, with none of the flowers, birds, and other adorable creatures I had come to associate with such things. What it _did _ have in abundance, however, were thorns and sharp, sharp rocks, both of which I had discovered in the worst possible way the instant I came hopping off the beach. Aside from the resultant limp and the multiple puncture wounds, I decided that the damn place was too hot, too dry, too hilly, and was simply unsuitable for human habitation. Amazingly, I was also beginning to come to the conclusion that it was possible to have too much damn _sun_ as well; part of me ached for the slightest cloud cover overhead, although that paled in comparison to the part of me that really, really wanted a stiff double and a place to put my feet up for a couple of hours. In short, the momentary thrill of setting foot on an unknown land was beginning to fade, leaving me in the unwelcoming position of being lost in the middle of nowhere without any decent provisions or, for that matter, simple footwear. Reality, I concluded, was a thoroughly nasty place to have to live.

My luck took a little turn for the better after that, however; about twenty minutes of hard slogging later I managed to find a little dusty path winding its way through the forest of pointy plants and jagged stones. Feeling a little buoyed by this discovery, I decided to see where it went and was absolutely delighted when, about five hundred meters down the track, I found a jaunty little marker that told me that I was no more than two and a half miles from South Figaro...which, I decided, planted it firmly on the other side of the irritatingly tall hill smack bang in front of me. Still, at least that meant that I wasn't about to die of thirst out here, and with somewhat mixed feelings about my revised situation, I set off over the tall, scrub-covered hill.

Looking back over it all, I think the point that I properly, _actually_, fell in love with Figaro was when I crested that hill and saw the sparking, pristine city port of South Figaro spread out beneath me. It may help you to understand that, up until this point, the only place I'd ever been that was large enough to be considered a city was Vector, and...well, we'll be coming onto Vector, but suffice it to say that it was a dark, cramped, grimy place that rarely saw the sun. South Figaro, now...

From where I was standing, I could see that the city was a terraced affair, built around the sides of a sparkling deep water cove, and I could see hundreds upon hundreds of tiny, brightly coloured sails floating lazily on the gentle waves. Aside from the harbour, every building in South Figaro appeared to be built from the same brilliant white rock, making it almost painful to look at in the bright summer sun. Squinting carefully, I thought that I could just about make out several larger roads, winding up between the terraces and heading out of the city in different directions – but, clearly, at this stage I had no idea which one would be the best route to take, or even if any of them were suitable for my needs.

I squatted down for a moment while I considered what to do. Obviously, at this stage I desperately needed information, particularly on the availability of transport that was headed north. Generally speaking, South Figaro was the best place to get info of that sort, but the fact that I was currently dressed in dusty, scratched medical scrubs and a bean cap designed for the depths of a Vectoran winter meant that I was likely to draw attention of every sort to me the instant I set foot inside city limits.

"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," I muttered to myself, and stood up. I wasn't going to find anything out staying up here, for sure; the trick was just finding something out before I got committed, or, worse, I had a run-in with Imperial Intelligence. Grimacing at that thought, I nevertheless stepped forward and began the long walk down into the city. After all, how hard could this actually _be_?

About an hour later, I was pretty much willing to concede that I had done myself, and the Empire, an enormous favour by getting kicked out of Imperial Intelligence. As far as I could tell, I was lost, and the worst bit was that I couldn't even get back out of the city to get my bearings. Roads that looked like they led up actually twisted right around and lead back down, and one of the larger roads that I thought I had seen from the side of the hill was actually closed while workmen dug it up, and my attempts to sidle apologetically around the safety barriers had been met with a barrage of quick-fire Figaran and several brandished work tools, at which point I beat a hasty retreat. Still, despite the fact that I had suffered a temporary setback to my plans, I was definitely having more fun than I had had in quite a while.

Part of that was due to the vibrancy of the city. Whereas everyone in Vector tended to keep their heads down and concentrate on getting from A to B, here the streets had the feeling of a never-ending party. It seemed like the entire population had spilled out onto the street, and all around me I could hear people calling out to one another over the background ambience of street musicians and various merchants yelling about their fruit. It seemed that wherever I went, there were always people who knew other people, and from the sounds of it, those people seemed to know exactly how many people the other party's mothers had been intimate with, which tended to result in either good-natured slaps on the back or scuffles in the street, almost entirely at random. The first time I had seen this happen, I was surprised; by the third or fourth time, I was more settled in and, certainly, felt like I was beginning to get to grips with the city a little more.

It helped, for starters, that everyone was industriously ignoring me. As I had suspected, my somewhat unusual clothing gave me the appearance of an escaped mental patient or homeless beggar, and as a result I was given a slight berth by everyone regardless of how packed the street was. It also meant that the merchants and street players started to tone down their exuberance performances as I approached, which prevented the entire experience from being too overwhelming. I also suspected that my curious fashion sense was also the main reason why nobody had tried to pick my pocket, either, although anyone who did so would end up receiving a mysterious bolt of static powerful enough to render their arm numb for several minutes.

There were downsides to this, though; mainly that I simply couldn't get anyone's attention no matter how hard I tried. Without anyone willing to speak to me, I was certainly no closer to locating what I needed, and not even any closer to finding a Sentinel aid station where I could probably get myself into uniform and blend in a little better. There was also the growing worry in the back of my head that I would be identified by a Wraith and set upon when I was vulnerable – indeed, maybe one was already on my scent. Finally, with a sigh of frustration, I decided to get an early afternoon tea at the closest restaurant I could find and see if anyone inside would be more willing to give me the time of day.

It took me a little searching, but finally my limited grasp of Figaran and the obvious sign of food above a set of steps down guided me into a cool, underground place that, given the general atmosphere and layout, pretty much had to be a restaurant. Illumination was provided almost exclusively by the decorative candles in the centre of each table, and was supplemented by a string of lights above a slightly raised stage at the far end, where a single man was half-heartedly playing a tune on some kind of brass instrument - a saxophone, I decided eventually. There were shadows in the gloom, who turned to regard me as I entered, and a long pause followed while we evaluated one another before, finally, the men in the dark turned back to whatever it was they were doing before I walked in. Feeling a little nervous about the scrutiny, I still wandered casually up to the small bar and plonked myself down on a hard wooden stool.

The barman, who had up until that point been polishing a glass, looked up at me and said something in Figaran that was simply too fast for me to catch. In response, I gave him a polite smile and asked him, in a slow, halting tone, to repeat his question. Once again, I was treated to another barrage of Figaran that I had absolutely no hope of understanding, and shook my head to indicate my lack of comprehension.

"He wants to know what you'd like to drink, pal," there was a scrape of wood on stone, and a man settled onto the stool beside me, "I suppose yer not from around here, are you?"

"No...no, not really," I stared into the gloom, attempting to make out the features of the helpful man, "Just arrived, in fact."

"Shoulda brought yourself a phrasebook, aye?" there was a subtle glint of white teeth in the darkness, and then the man turned back to the barman and said something that I didn't catch. A moment later, he hopped down from his stool and patted me on the shoulder. Curious despite myself, I followed him to a table in the far corner of the room.

"I ordered us a coupla beers," he said, sitting down heavily in one of the high-backed chairs, "You like a pint, right?"

"That's fine, thanks," I said politely; I _had_ been after lunch, admittedly, but I had an inkling that I was onto something more important here, "So, where're you from?"

The man snorted, "Kohlingen. Can't you tell? 'Name's Cole, Locke Cole," a hand came out of the dark, "Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Mister..."

"Tanis," I said, quickly taking my friend's name in vain, "Tanis Alae."

"Strange name, that;" Locke leaned forwards into the candlelight, revealing a set of sharp features, grey eyes, and mousy brown hair, tied back with a bandana, "So, where's _you_ from, Tanis? That's a Vector accent, if I'am not mistaken."

"Close enough," I smiled and nodded, "I'm from Wareydon; it's about ten miles south of Vector."

"Is that a fact?" Locke leaned back again and gestured the barman over. A moment later, a tall glass filled with beer was set before me, and I gave it a quick experimental sip, "That name's been in the news a lot recently, if I'm right.."

"You mean the terrorist attack?" I said casually, and almost choked on my beer when Locke gave a short, loud laugh that echoed off the walls.

"Terrorist attack?" he sneered, "You mark my words, pal, if it _was_ a terrorist attack, then so was that so-called 'mistake' that had your bloody air force bomb my town back into the stone age! Someone _planned_ that attack!"

"Uh, terrorists?" I tried again. Either this guy knew more than he was letting on, or he was a crazy conspiracy theorist who was just a little bit on the sauce. At the moment, I was definitely leaning towards the latter.

"You'll see, pal, you'll see," Locke said, with a somewhat patronising edge, "It's the innocents I feel bad for, though. Weren't most of the casualties Sentinels?"

"Not sure," I lied. To be honest, I didn't want to be reminded that a fair number of my friends had been blown of out existence by Kefka and his shenanigans. I had quite enough on my plate just dealing with Terra, "Not _everyone_ in Wareydon worked at the base."

"Oh? What'd you do, then?" there was a pause from the other side of the table, "Whatever it was, looked like you had to leave in a bit of a hurry, eh?"

"Don't remind me," I sighed dramatically, "I did odd jobs, mainly; never got any proper qualifications."

"A handyman, eh? Good show!" Locke leaned over and clapped me on the shoulder, "Sounds like you're a man after my own heart!" his gaze shifted, "Oh – speaking of leaving in a hurry, I think we'd better be thinking of making tracks ourselves. Looks like the heavies're rolling in."

I half-turned in my seat to see four or five heavyset men kick back their chairs and begin to walk towards us with a slow, deadly purpose that suggested only one thing. Suddenly, I caught the subtle, deadly glint of metal in the candlelight – a knife, half-concealed in someone's hand, and my heart started pounding in my ears.

"Just do as I say an' we'll be fine," Locke said tensely, "You'd better start moving towards the exit. Nice 'n slow, like."

"One of them has a knife," I said anxiously.

"What were you expecting, a feather duster?" he replied scornfully, "They'll _all_ have knives – now, get your arse out that door!"

I gave the strange man a worried glance, but nonetheless turned away and crossed the room in as calm and nonchalant a manner as I could.

"Greetings, gentlemen!" Locke said brightly, behind me, "What can I do for you on this fine afternoon, then?"

"What're you doing, associatin' with suspicious men like that, eh Locke?" one of the men sneered, and I was mildly surprised that I actually understood the whole sentence, "He's bad news, y'know."

"Ah, he seems harmless enough," Locke said easily, "What've you got against him, anyway?"

"'S from the Empire," another man rumbled, "Isn't that enough for you, Locke? You're canny enough to see where the wind's blowing to, right? Havin' someone like him around's going to be a liability."

"I don't see any proof, pal," Locke's voice suddenly acquired a dark, dangerous edge, "If I were you, I'd put my shiv away and be sittin' back down with my nice, cold pint, 'else somebody could get hurt."

"'S possible," that same deep baritone rumbled menacingly, "Why get involved?"

"Ah, y'know me," Locke smiled disarmingly, "I'm always sticking my nose where it's not want- _run, Tanis!_"

I didn't need to be told twice, and before Locke had finished turning I was already at the base of the stairs. In the dark, I heard a curse and a clatter of metal against the wall just behind me, which gave me just enough impetus to take the unevenly cut steps three at a time until I was back out in the welcoming sunlight. A moment later Locke appeared behind me, breathing quickly from the adrenalin rush and sudden exertion, and without another word we both pelted down the street, not stopping until we'd put several roads between us and our attackers.

"Who...who _were_ those people?" I said, leaning against a shady wall while I waited for my fibrillating heart to calm down.

"Ah, just drunken lowlifes looking for any excuse for a spot of rough'n'tumble," Locke said reassuringly, "They won't be following us...besides, they're the least of our worries."

"There's _more_?"

"Aye. Y'hear that knife that nearly got itself buried in your spine? That was a professional job if ever I seen one. Don't think the man were a regular, 'neither – in fact, I'm pretty sure he came in a couple minutes after you."

"Really? I didn't see him?"

"You wouldn'tve done, not with yer back to the door like it was," Locke smirked cheerlessly, "Seems strange, though, that someone would set a professional on you like that. Makes _you_ all the more interestin', I'd wager."

"Me? I raised my eyebrows, "What about me?"

"Who can say?" Locke shrugged, but his gaze was inquisitive, "A handyman from the same town as t' base that got blown up suddenly turns up two thousand miles from where he's supposed to be dressed in messy green scraps an' a yellow hat?" there was a long pause, and his gaze stayed on my hat for rather longer than was comfortable, "Very strange, aye – but no matter. We'd best be getting out of here, and quickly."

"Ah, what?" I sighed, "But I only just arrived!"

"Weren't you listening before?" Locke said forcefully, "That man in there were a professional! If we stick around here for any length of time he's going to track us down and try all over again! You reckon your good enough to dodge another knife? What if he comes at you with a gun, eh?"

"Why didn't he?"

"Beats me," my saviour shrugged, "Some men're set in their ways, I suppose. Now, we'd best be going."

"Where, exactly?" I folded my arms, "Don't think I'm not grateful to you or anything, but my mummy always told me to never go off with strangers."

"Listen up, pal," Locke said irritably, "Your mum's a paranoid gobshite and yer just as much a gobshite for listening to her. I don't know what kinda game your caught up in, but it seems like I'm caught up in it too and I kinda want to stay alive, aye? The way I see it, as long as I'm savin' my own skin, I may as well drag you along with me, at least till you tell me something that I want to hear."

"And what would that be, exactly?" I raised my eyebrows, "You still haven't answered my question; where are we going?"

"Well, I'm afraid that's going' to have to wait," Locke peered around the corner, then quickly jerked his head back, "Shite! Looks like he's still on our tail!"

"We didn't lose him?"

"I didn't think we would, really," Locke smiled nastily, "A professional ain't going ta be put off by a little thing like a crowd. I'll bet he was out that pub almost before we were...look, lad, he ain't goin' to be as easy to slip as those dafties back in tha pub; we'll have to lure 'im out and give him a damn good chibbin' while his guard's down, aye?"

"...possibly?" I answered cautiously, and made a mental note to look up Kohlinglese vernacular when I next had the chance.

"Grand," my curious companion said, "Fer now, I suggest we just saunter toward the train station, nice 'n' easy like. If thingmie thinks he's got an opening, you can be sure he'll be all over yer like flies on manure."

"There's something about this that doesn't, uh, really work for me," I replied, "Specifically; the fact I'm being used as bait."

"Ah, stop complaining! Yer his target, you nonce!" Locke shook his head, "You'll be fine. Just look natural – well, as natural as yer can look in yer current getup – and follow me."

I had to admit, I was pretty quickly falling out of love again with this strange new world; for a start, within the space of an hour I'd managed to get totally lost in South Figaro, nearly end up in a bar-room brawl, and end up being followed by someone who seemed to have a strange desire to put sharp objects between my vertebrae. That, of course, was completely ignoring the fact that I was apparently placing my life in the hands of someone who was probably no more trustworthy than the man who was trying to do me in and seemed to fall somewhere short of that oh-so-important line marked 'sanity'. Of course, the fact remained that he _hadn't_ tried to kill me yet, which in this town probably meant that he was reasonably safe to deal with – unless, of course, he was inexplicably waiting for an opportunity to do me in further down the road.

Unsurprisingly, a little bit of paranoia was beginning to set in.

Locke led me in a slow, easy walk down the largely empty promenade that ran alongside the invitingly cool waters of the harbour. Although I had heard that South Figaro was meant to be the major -indeed, the _only_- deep-water port on the south coast of Figaro, there didn't appear to be any large ships in port or, for that matter, any space available for them to pull up and offload. All the nearby shoreline was covered in wooden jetties that served as docks for possibly a hundred colourful boats and the many more that were currently out on the water enjoying the day. The rest of the shore consisted of large, sandy beaches filled with the equally bright and cheerful umbrellas and towels of lucky bastards who appeared to be making the most of the sunshine.

"Gits," I muttered to myself, "Lucky, lucky gits!"

"What was that?" Locke, trying to keep a surreptitious eye on our pursuant, "Did you say something, Tanis?"

"What? Oh, no," I shook my head, sending droplets of sweat flying everywhere, "Warm out, isn't it."

"I suspect it'd be a tad cooler if yer removed that vile bobble hat, pal," Locke looked askance at the offending article, "Still, I suppose we ain't going to lose our friend while yer dressed up like a damn lollipop."

"You think it's awful as _well_?" this, for no particular reason, made my day, "I _told_ her, but would she listen? No!"

"Who?"

"My...friend," I said, somewhat evasively, "She lent me this hat just before I had to get out of Wareydon."

"Fascinating," Locke gave another quick glance behind us, "Glad to see our friend ain't bored of our company yet. We'll take a left here an' head up through tha fish market; I can't imagine there'll be too many people about this time a tae day."

"That's good, is it?" I blinked, "Surely we _want-"_

"You don't want to be scaring the locals, aye?" my companion said, and lead me down a gloomy side street that I could've sworn he picked at random, "Yer start a brawl in the middle of a crowd, and somebody might get hurt who shouldn'tve... 'sides, I'd like to avoid building up a reputation in these parts."

"You're going to start a brawl?" I stopped for a moment, "What kind of stupid plan is that?"

"Nah, just a contingency," Locke waved me further down the back alley, "Yo always need a contingency fer when yer original plan goes to shite, aye? Keep on going, Tanis; I'll just hang back an' make sure that our pally gets what's coming to him!"

I wasn't so certain that I particularly _liked_ this turn of events, but nonetheless I stepped past the Kohlinglese man and ran down the alleyway, suddenly anxious to get out of this rather dark, gloomy part of South Figaro and back to the maniacal street party. My fears weren't exactly allayed when, after a short jog down the alleyway, it opened out into a brightly lit, but largely abandoned square. As far as I knew, this was the fish market that Locke had been talking about, although it was had to tell due to the complete absence of people and, curiously, fish. Although the sounds of the nearby streets were still audible here, they were muted and strangely distorted, giving the area a rather lonely quality that, if anything, was amplified by the gentle flapping of the unused canopies and discarded shipping crates. Somewhat unnerved by the atmosphere, I made towards the nearest exit when I heard the sound of running feet behind me, and -somewhat surprised that Locke had done the job so quickly and quietly- I paused momentarily to give him a chance to catch up.

It wasn't Locke; I realised _that_ the instant that I caught the dazzling glint off a knife-edge, and in the moments after I kicked myself for not immediately diving behind any of the cover all around me. By that time, of course, it was too late, and I grimaced as I saw a wide, predatory smile crinkle the otherwise nondescript face of the person who could only be my assassin.

"My, my," he spoke, in heavily accented but otherwise flawless Vectoran, "You're a lot easier to corner than the contract made you out to be."

"There's a contract out on me?" I raised my eyebrows. To be frank, I wasn't exactly _surprised_ by this revelation; Imperial Intelligence rarely did its own dirty work - but bloody hell were they ever _quick_ these days!

"'million gil, boy," the man said, and casually tossed the knife over so the blade was in his hand, "I suppose its fortunate I found you first, really."

"Aren't you suspicious that I'm _worth_ a million gil?" I said, focusing on the knife in his hand. I already knew what I was going to do with it, but I just needed another half second or so to bring my plans to bear... "I mean, c'mon."

"I'm not bothered with the details," my would-be assassin said, and brought his throwing arm forward for a smooth cast. The instant his fingers released the blade, I wrapped it with my mind and then -with a subtle jerk of a finger- sent it spinning into the wall several meters to my left.

"My, that was lucky," I gave the discarded weapon a somewhat disinterested glance, "You got more than one of-"

No sooner had the words left my mouth than I heard the unpleasant whipping noise of another knife flying through the air. Acting on reflex, I hurled myself out of the way of the incoming blade cursing my own insufferable cockiness and his speed-throwing abilities as I did so. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and scrambled to my feet just in time to find myself staring down the point of a third knife.

"'got plenty," he said nastily, "Not that the fourth or fifth are going to be any of your concern."

"...I can see that," I said weakly, and did my best not to swallow. The question now was going to be if I could get that damn knife away from my throat long enough to put him down, and from the way this little tête-à-tête was going I rather doubted that the answer was going to be in my favour.

Then, suddenly, there was a cry that brightened my day immensely, "Hey, you!" the familiar Kohlinglese twang of a particular fellow echoed across the square, "Why don't yer pick on someone with their own knives, eh?"

For just an instant, I could see that my assailant's attention was diverted towards Locke, and I seized the moment to both grab the blade and drive my knee into his solar plexus. As he groaned and doubled up in pain I stepped to one side and -with a strength borne of pure adrenalin- broke his grip on the weapon and threw it as far away from both of us as possible. Then, in a flash, Locke was on the scene and a long, nastily curved dagger was suddenly around the subdued man's throat.

"'Aight, Mick?" Locke said evilly, "'s been a while, ain't it pal?"

"Locke, eh?" the man-now-known-as-Mick gasped, "I have to admit, I _thought_ you'd find him first, but...why? We were all offered-"

"Ah, money ain't everythin'," Locke said brusquely, and tightened his grip, "It'ss strange that yer'd think that that man would've paid yer, though. Have yer always been this much of a daftie, or is this a new development?"

"Even for a million gil?"

"_Especially_ fer a million gil, pal, considering where it came from," Locke replied, "Someone worth a million to 'is type is probably worth protecting, I think."

"Really?" I said suddenly, and then suddenly caught another tell-tale glint of metal slowly being removed from a pocket on Mick's leg, "Locke, he's-"

"Ah, Mick, yer don't want to be making me slit yer throat, now do yer?" Locke's voice suddenly turned companionable, but with a distinct hint of violence around the edges, "Put that knife away and maybe I'll let yer get away with _both _yer ears intact."

"I don't think he'll let us get away with our heads intact, Locke," Mick gasped, "He didn't seem like the sort that was good at hearing about failure."

"Well, I suppose we'll just 'ave to disappoint the fool, aye?" Locke replied, "Now, just be still and I'll put yer under nice an' easy lik-"

There was a sudden blur of motion and a blade flew high into the air, shining brightly in the sun. I jumped back involuntarily at the sound of a horrific meaty tearing noise, followed by a gasp of pain that -from the sound of it- could only have belong to Mick. Locke stepped back fluidly, and roughly pushed the dying man to the floor just as the flying knife hit the ground with a clatter.

"Wait, pal," Locke put out a hand to stop me as I leant towards the assassin, "Don't bother yerself with him; he's good as gone."

"But-"

"Slashed right across ter artery," Locke indicated the cardiac pulse of the oozing blood, "Nothin' yer could do could save 'im now," he turned to Mick, "Sorry, pal, but yer kinda forced my hand."

Mick gave a faint, almost apologetic smile by way of reply, and I almost trembled with indecision as I watched the blood slowly seep away. Locke had no way of knowing that I probably _could_ have saved him, in fact the oaths that I hadn't yet taken as a Silver Sentinel would have required me to at least _try_, but at the same time I couldn't think of any way I could effect such a miracle without my cover being absolutely ripped to shreds – and there was the small matter that even_ if_ I saved him he could well turn up further down the road with a larger set of knives and an even bigger desire to see me dead.

So, instead, I stood there impotently, filled with a mixture of relief and self-hatred, and watched as his eyes slowly glazed over. After what felt like an age, he gave one final sigh and his eyes rolled back into his head, leaving a dark, solemn silence in his wake. Slowly, Locke knelt beside him and closed his eyes, before shucking his blood-stained jacket and placing it carefully over the wound.

"He were a good man, back when we worked together," he said thickly, "It's mad that it's come ta this, all fer just a million gil."

For my part, I said nothing. I'd done my stint in the A&E departments of the local hospital, same as any Trainee Sentinel, and I'd seen my fair share of soon-to-be-dead and dead-on-arrivals...but there there'd always been a sterile, impersonal edge to it – well, obviously, there had to be if you wanted to get through the night with your sanity intact. This situation was quite different; for one, I'd never, ever before seen the actual act of violence that snuffed out someone's life, and here, far away from any hospital in this deserted fish market, life suddenly seemed to have a deadly, visceral quality that suddenly made me ache for home.

"Never seen a dead body 'fore, Tanis?" Locke said, in a kindly tone of voice.

"It-it's not the same, is it," I said distantly, "You...read about this sort of thing in the papers – y'know, 'one stabbed to death in back alley', but it's always so far away..."

"If it helps, it could've been you lyin' there, pal," he replied, "I don' think he'll be the last, either. There were more than just us at that meeting, and this'll be as good as a beacon to the lot o' them."

I shook my head and looked resolutely away from Mick's corpse, "That reminds me, Locke. What's this about a million gil hit being put out on me? More to the point – how're _you_ mixed up in all of this? I get the strange feeling that there's something you're not telling me – in fact, quite a lot of things."

"Well, that makes the two of us, eh?" Locke gave me an appraising look, "Seems to me that a man wit' a million gil contract on his bonce would do well not to protest his innocent too loudly, aye? Yer right, though, I ain't been entirely straight wit' yer – but here an' now ain't the best place to discuss this, right? We needs to be long gone from South Figaro 'fore the fuzz and ma good friends catch on to us, so let's move!"

Without another word, Locke gave me a slight shove towards an alleyway that, I assumed, lead back to the real world. As we left, I cast one last look back over the fish market and the calm, composed body of Mick stretched out on the ground. From this angle, barring a couple of telltale blood stains, it almost seemed like he was sleeping.

Once again, I found myself with a sudden longing for home.


	12. Chapter 11: Train Sailing

**Chapter 11 – Train sailing**

Right, I'm being kinda late on the introduction here, but people – meet Locke Coke. I'm not going to bother with a description, but suffice it to say that he's basically what you'd expect to get if someone ever worked out how to genetically cross a human with a magpie. I'll going to go out on a limb here and bet that he's probably someone you've heard of, albeit more in the region of 'action archaeology' (you know, the sort of person who gets chased down long corridors by large boulders), but he _has_ done some useful things with his time – for one, it wouldn't be entirely unfair to give him a large amount of credit for bringing a lot of still-functioning Magitek technology back into the public domain.

Beneath that semi-respectable exterior, however, still beats the heart of someone who is, at their core, never happier unless they're doing _something_ disreputable. Generally speaking, if you need...things...moved around the world for whatever reason, or get something done that isn't entirely, say, approved of by the government, then he'll know how to do it or know someone else who does. Don't get me wrong – he's so far managed to present an image of perfect legality (and nobody's actually managed to pin anything to him) but that's largely through being a middleman who just doesn't participate enough to show up on the map.

I'm going to have to get my locks changed now, but before I do that I think we should press on. There's still a lot to get through.

If there's one problem I'm going to lay squarely at the feet of South Figaro's abysmal town planners, it's that the nearest train station for the _entire damn city_ is almost a mile out of town. I have absolutely no idea why this is, or which inbred reprobate in the city council thought it was a good idea, but the simple fact remains that every time I have to go teach no-hopers across the continent (thanks to the new compulsory outreach program) I either have to walk for a stupid length of time just to get to the station, or take my bike and face the fact that it'll have been nicked by the time I get back. I mean, seriously, would a small rail extension be _that_ difficult to build? Granted, we'd have to somehow move a square mile of Special Scientific Interest, but the amount I'm spending on walking boots and bicycles is just getting silly.

Of course, if it's a problem now it was even worse seven years ago. For the most part, the main road leading to the train station was rammed tight with freight running between the city and parts unknown, and the few pedestrians were relegated to a tiny little pathway that was about an inch from high-speed traffic and positively bathed in the fumes of an entire trunk road's worth of poorly tuned engines. Between that and the heat, it was something of a wonder I didn't collapse on the spot.

"C'mon, Tanis!" I felt someone prod me roughly in the back, "It's going to take us _years_ to get to the train station if yer keep on moving at that pace!"

"Well, I _am_ sorry," I half-turned to give Locke a sharp glance, "Maybe if I wasn't being simultaneously choked and boiled alive and having my feet seared off by this hilariously hot pavement and almost being run over-"

"Do you always complain this much?" Locke prodded me again, "The sooner we get to the train station, the sooner all yer problem's'll be over, you understand? Grit your teeth and get moving, or we'll miss our train!"

"Which train?" I raised my voice as a very large, very noisy truck barreled past barely a foot away, "You still haven't said where we're going?"

"I'll tell you when we're onboard!"

"Oh, _good_!" I retorted, "So if I decide I don't want to go there, it'll be _just_ too late for me to do anything about it!"

"Where else're you going to go?" Locke snorted, "Back to South Figaro? You won't last two seconds! I swear, if I hadn't've stepped in Mick would've had yer bang to rights!"

"Well, maybe he _wouldn't_ have had that opportunity if the person I was depending on to stop him hadn't sloped off for a quick smoke, eh?" I gave him another annoyed look, and Locke spread his hands in supplication.

"Weren't you listening? I told you we needed to lower his guard!" he snapped, "I had the whole situation under control!"

"I could've had my throat cut!"

"You could _still_ have yer throat cut, pal," Locke replied menacingly, "I'm beginning to see how you could've annoyed someone enough for them to put a bounty out on you. Now, get moving before I decide yer more trouble then yer worth!"

It took about another ten minutes of choking, baking pathway for the station to come into view, but when it did I decided that it had, in the end, probably been worth the effort. Someone, clearly, had come along after the ingrate who had decided 'Hey, I know where the best place for a main transportation hub is! The _boondocks!_' and said 'Well, we've made them walk all the way here in temperatures that would make lava sweat, so let's give them a really nice station to make up for it!'. Even as someone who had seen the Vector International Train Station (built, obviously, _before_ the Empire annexed the entire continent), I was impressed.

To be honest, the design itself wasn't all that original – like all train stations, the main part of the structure was the enormous arched section where the platforms were, but _unlike_ most train stations, some thought had gone into disguising this fact. The outside walls of the station had been covered in crystal or some material that didn't so much reflect the light as softly emit it, causing the entire building to glow with a gentle, diffuse hue that seemed strangely out of place in the harsh sun. The platform roof itself had been sculpted, carefully, with the same crystal to resemble a gentle wavy pattern that gave the impression (or so I thought) that one was staring at a frozen relief of the ocean. Whatever it was supposed to be, it _was_ easy on the eyes, and with a sudden redoubling of speed I set off towards it, desperate to be out of the brutal afternoon sun.

I figured that the inside of the train station probably wouldn't live up to its exterior, and I was slightly gratified to see that I was completely right. While the main departures lounge was a large, cool, airy affair, time and repeated budget cuts had clearly taken their toll on the place. Under my feet I could feel that the thin veneer of linoleum (while blissfully cool after the well-baked pavements outside) was cracked and pitted in several places, revealing thick slabs of rough, unappealing concrete underneath. Similarly, the paint on the walls was flaking and 

falling away, coating the floor and the large, well-worn seats in a faint vermillion hue. Here and there were large sections of floor and supporting columns totally cordoned off with yellow and black warning tape, and official looking signs that stated 'Figaran Rail Authority: Working to make your station better!' and a general apology for any inconvenience caused during the apparent refurbishment of the station. A small cafe, nestled away in the corner, was the only part that appeared to show any signs of regular upkeep, and a quick look at the prices gave me a pretty good idea as to why that was.

Thankfully, the lounge itself was almost entirely empty, and the few people who were there surveyed us with a look of vague interest before returning to their own little worlds. Glad that nobody was about to challenge me regarding my rather badly tattered clothing, I followed Locke over to the departures board, my footfalls echoing in the silence.

"Oh, grand," Locke breathed, staring at the rapidly flipping board, "Looks like we'll still be able to catch the sleeper to Figaro Central."

"Figaro Central?" I asked, quickly scanning the board for the relevant train, "Wait – _sleeper?_"

"Aye," my companion threw me an amused glance, "Figaro's a large place, pal. Trains're quick, but yer still looking at a twelve hour trip to get to the central hub an' we've got a couple hours travelling after _that_."

"To where, exactly?" I asked irritably, "I don't suppose you're planning on telling me in the near future, are you?"

"Not while there're still people around," Locke said conspiratorially. I gave the departures lounge a slow once-over, taking in the extremely bored and, to my mind, totally unthreatening people who seemed to be awaiting their trains, "Let's wait until we get onboard, aye?"

"Fine, fine..." I pointed at a likely kiosk, behind which a bored-looking woman appeared to alternate between filling in a crossword and taking long drags from a ratty little dog-end, "Is that where we get our tickets?"

"That's the one, Tanis," Locke said, and strode over towards the desk. At our approach, the ticket lady looked up, and gave me a long look that suggested that she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. A short flurry of Figaran followed, just slightly too fast for me to catch in its entirety, and after a moment Locke turned back to face me with a slightly irritated expression.

"What's the matter?" I asked, feeling a sudden sure of annoyance at the delay.

"You," Locke replied, in a tone that matched his face, "She says it's against FRA policy to sell tickets to 'potential escaped criminals or the mentally unstable'."

"Well, I don't see why that's a-" I looked down, then back up, "Oh, right. The clothing."

"Aye."

"Well, did you try telling her I'm _not_ crazy?" I sighed, and looked over at the ticket woman who was once again engaged industriously in her puzzles, although I had no doubt she was listening to every word.

"How can I tell her that when I don't entirely believe it myself? Besides, you _do_ look just like yer broke out of a loony bin, 'specially with that hat."

"Well, how about if I paid for the tickets?" I said quickly, and felt around for Celes' wallet, "How many insane people do you know who have money at their disposal?"

"D'ya know how much these tickets can _cost_?" Locke snorted, "They aren- _crikey, _Tanis; where'd you get all that?"

"You know that friend of mine who lent me this hat?" I patted the rather badly-damaged article, and it squeaked gently in response, "Yeah, she lent me her wallet, too...although she'll probably want interest on whatever I use..."

"An' you say you're just a simple handyman..." Locke's eyebrows shot up under his bandana, but he turned back to the kiosk without further comment. Once again another short burst of Figaran followed, and the ticket lady looked at me, then at the wallet, and back at my face again, her expression becoming, if possible, even more incredulous by the moment. Finally, Locke turned back with an even darker look etched across his features.

"She says 'no'," he growled, flatly.

"_What_?" I gave the ticket lady an evil look of my own.

"Apparently it's also against FRA policy to 'accept stolen or counterfeit monies'."

"Wha-but this isn't _stolen_!" I felt frustration begin to flare up inside, but fought to control it before anything untoward happened, "This was _given_ to me, you bloody officious-"

"Easy, lad," Locke looked around anxiously, "We don't want station security to take notice, now. Here-" there was a jangling of metal as he felt around in a back pocket, and produced a small number of coppery coins, "how's about you go over to that cafe and get yourself something to drink, eh? Get me something to drink while you're at it, too."

"But-"

"I'll handle this, don't yer worry," Locke said, and pointed at the cafe, "Now get going before you have an aneurysm or something."

"Fine, fine," I said irritably, and padded gently over to the expensive-looking cafe. A couple of people looked up as I approached, but quickly returned to their papers as I shot a withering glare in their direction. Clearly, I thought wryly, nobody wanted to risk being the centre of attention for an already annoyed madman in a vile yellow hat if they could possibly avoid it. The same, it appeared, could be said for the owner of the little cafe, as there were already two sparking bottles of water on the counter as I approached.

"That'll be six fifty, p-please," the short, balding man said. I took a long, hard look at the change that Locke had given me before finally looking at the owner with a faintly puzzled expression.

"The two b-big-" he said a word I didn't understand, but I assumed it meant 'hexagonal', "-ones and the small round coin, please."

I gave him the requisite coins and thanked him for his time. From the expression on his face, I wasn't quite sure if he had interpreted my smile as genuine or the glassy grin of a madman about to start laying about with the glass bottles he'd just handed over. With a shrug, I placed another one of the incomprehensible coins on the counter and turned away to find somewhere to sit down.

Curiously, all the nearby seats had been recently vacated. Feeling slightly happier now that I no longer had to deal with the evil ticket lady (who, I decided, would face horrible, twisted ordeals when I finally got some free time on my hands) I settled back and unsnapped the lid of one of the bottles, giving the owner another bright smile as I did so.

"Stop scarin' the poor man, Tanis," Locke's voice took me by surprise, and it was only through sheer luck that I avoided spilling half my drink all over my dust-covered scrubs. A moment later, my Kohlinglese mate appeared and sat down opposite me.

"Any luck?" I raised my eyebrows, and handed him the other bottle. He looked at the sparkling water with some distaste, but tore the top off and downed half the liquid in one go.

"I hate sparkling water," he muttered to no-one in particular, but then produced two large, yellow tickets from underneath the table. A quick examination suggested that they were printed on quite expensive paper, and even my somewhat rudimentary knowledge of Figaran cursive was sufficient to understand the words 'first class'.

"First class?" I raised my eyebrows, "How did you manage to get first class tickets? Half a minute ago she didn't even want us on the train!"

"You mean she didn't want _you_ on the train," Locke pointed out, much to my irritation, "Let's just say that I pulled a few strings."

"...right. Well, I suppose there's no point in sitting around here any longer," I looked up at the cafe owner, who gave me a faint, desperate smile in return, "Besides, if I stick around here any longer I'm probably going to end up shortening that guy's lifespan."

"Maybe you shouldn't smile like that at him then," Locke suggested, "I think he thinks you really _are_ going to shorten his lifespan."

"I'm trying to be friendly, that's all!"

"Maybe you should smile less, then," he replied, "Until you get good at it, anyway."

"Thanks for the tip, chief," I turned my attention back to Locke, "Anyway, shall we go?"

To be honest, I was more than a little worried that the guard was going to give us some grief over the tickets, particularly considering the increasingly desperate state of my clothing. He certainly _did_ spend a fair amount of his time looking between the tickets and my rather shifty looking associate, but between the tickets (and my apparently devastating smile) he was eventually convinced that, yes, we _had_ obtained the tickets through the proper legal channels and _no_, I wasn't going to go crazy and kill everyone two hours into the journey.

"That's a relief," Locke muttered, once the guard finally gestured us onwards, "'soon as we can, we're going to have to get you looking at least halfway respectable. 'Specially that damn cap."

"The hat stays," I clapped my hand down over it protectively, drawing curious glances from all nearby, "I'm not bloody well meeting up with my mate again hatless!"

"Did yer pal say anything about the rest of yer charming outfit?" Locke asked, "Maybe I'm just set in my ways, but when _I'm_ being hunted by people who wants to do me harm, I make a point of tryin' to blend in, eh?"

"Do you really? Fascinating," I replied sardonically, "You _must_ tell me all of your worldly wisdom when you get a chance!"

"We've got a chance now, if yer want," Locke smirked nastily, and held up his ticket, "Looks like this is our carriage."

Naturally, as an Imperial soldier (well, Sentinel) in training, I had hitherto earned about as much money as the average volunteer worker, and it shouldn't really come as much of a surprise to any of you that up until this point the bit of the train marked 'first class' had always been a bit of a mystery to me, clouded in tall hats, large monacles, and big, throaty laughs. It was, therefore, slightly disappointing to discover that the first class section of this train wasn't too far removed from what I had been used to; oh, sure, our tickets came with a key to our own (ensuite) cabin and the carpets were a touch thicker, but my first impressions were that it certainly wasn't what I considered worth the extra two months pay.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Locke said, when I pointed this out, "But see, that's not why our grand lords and masters travel first class; they're after the _privacy_, an' so are we. Now, where's our room..."

"But...but...where's the butlers? The masseurs? The performing artists?" I looked around wildly, "Don't tell me she was bloody feeding me a line all this time!"

"If its the same person who told yer that cap of yours was high fashion, I think it's likely," Locke stopped in front of a rather ornate looking door and compared it to the key, "Ah, this'd be ours!"

"Would you stop going on about my damn hat?" I snapped.

"'Soon as you get rid of it," Locke threw the door open in a rather dramatic fashion and stepped inside.

"Well, that's not happening."

"In that case yer'd better start developing a bit 'o patience then, aye?" Locke's voice echoed from inside our little room, "Now, would you get in here and stop cluttering up the hallway? If the lauded gentry get wind that there's a bloke in their class with headwear as horrible as yours, we'll be lucky if we can stay on the damn train!"

I gave a long, irritated sigh and followed Locke into the cabin. Again, for the mystical 'first class' it seemed to be a rather plain affair, which is to say the walls were still covered in rather nice looking wood panelling, and the long seats running most of the length of both walls seemed to be fairly plush. Aside from the furniture, the only other feature of interest in the room was another door to my immediate right that led, I assumed, to the ensuite part of our cabin.

"Close the door, Tanis," Locke said quickly. I kicked the door shut behind me, eliciting a very final-sounding 'click' from the lock, "Let's get ourselves out of sight quick as we can."

"Done," I said unnecessarily, and sat down opposite my companion, "I'm, um, guessing that that other door leads to the toilet, right?"

"Probably," Locke said, "'should be a shower in there, too, which I suggest you _use_ at some point, pal."

"It's hardly my fault that I haven't had a chance to attend to my personal hygiene recently," I said tartly, "I've been _busy_, what with getting off the Southern Continent and falling out of airships and dodging assassins – which reminds me, Locke," suddenly, Locke seemed ever-so-slightly uncomfortable, "You knew that guy who tried to kill me, didn't you."

"Mick?" Locke nodded, "Aye, we've worked together in the past."

"Didn't you also-"

Suddenly the sound of an enormous horn tore through the air with enough force to make the cabin reverberate. There was a moment of silence, and then it sounded again.

"Ow; bloody hell!" I muttered, "Was that-"

"Yeah, we're about to leave," Locke said, and as if on cue there was a jolt and a sudden feeling of forward motion. Idly, I turned to look out of the window as we left the cool interior of the station behind and started out across the Figaran countryside. For a moment my question was forgotten as I stared curiously out at the rugged, grassy plains, interspersed with neatly planted olive groves and the occasional tall, white house.

"Sit back, Tanis," Locke stood up, and quickly brought the blind down, obscuring the outside view and plunging us into near darkness.

"Hey!" I protested, "I was looking at that!"

"It'll still be there in the evenin', I'm sure," he replied reassuringly, "'sides, yer really don't want to catch more sun then you already have. This time of day, smart people're in the shade."

"Fine...fine," I grumbled, and then returned to the matter at hand, "If I _also_ remember correctly, he said that you two were at some kind of...meeting?"

"Oh, _that_!" Locke nodded again, "I do remember telling yer I'd talk about it later. 'Aright, Tanis, this is what happened – basically, about noon yesterday I got a message through my...connections-"

"Connections?"

"Aye, connections," he said, in a tone that said he wasn't about to elaborate, "Some bod wanted a job doing – the target would be easy and the pay would be...well, as yer know it _was_ substantial."

"A million gil?" I nodded, "I'd probably kill _myself_ for that sort of money..."

"Well, I had this thought, see. I'd heard about all the goings on down Vector way, and, well, as yer probably know I'm none too fond of the Empire an' its underhanded ways. 'Figured that I'd go along and see what was up, an' if it were important than maybe I could go and mess it up good and proper for 'em."

"If you're as vocal about the Empire as you were with me, I'm amazed they let you in," I pointed out.

"Ah, I see yer beginning to get the picture about the feller who hired us."

"Aren't many options, really. Still, surely they'd know about your...political leanings."

"I don't generally brag about them, if that's what you're thinking," Locke leaned in, "Truth be told, I've done work for the Empire in the past – nothing big, mind you, an' I certainly never killed for them, but little things, just to earn their trust."

"I...see," I didn't see at _all_, "Do go on, anyway."

"Well, this bloke were a proper piece of work, if you ask me," the man shivered, "I've seen some killers in my time, and this man fit the bill to a T. It weren't a long meeting, neither; he just gave us a description of yer, right down to that blasted yellow cap of yours, an' sent us packing."

"No name?" I frowned, "No nothing?"

"Nope," Locke shrugged, "He was pretty emphatic about the hat, though, 'fact, he told us to bring us the hat as proof we'd killed yer, head attached or otherwise."

"Lovely," I shuddered.

"Oh, aye, he were a gentleman and no mistake," a smirk flickered across Locke's face, "He also pointed out that there were no point in faking the hat; apparently, there's summat special about that thing on yer bonce that we wouldn't know about."

"Something special...something special..." I thought about this for a moment. Why would Celes' hat be anything other than an unremarkable, canary yellow affair? I knew as well as the next man that Celes appreciated higher quality clothes than most, but most designer labels tended to steer well clear of 'disgusting economy headwear', and this piece certainly didn't look or feel like a unique piece of apparel in any way, shape, or form, "What could it be? She must have modified it in some way."

"That's what I were thinkin'," Locke said, "'Course, if you took the damn thing _off_ then we'd be an awful lot safer; I know half the blokes at that meeting wouldn't know _me_ if I walked up an' hit them – I worked with most of them before; but you know what? Point them in the direction of something bright and yellow an' they'll be all over it like flies on manure. Tanis? Tanis! Are yer listening?"

"Modified...modified..." I was muttering to myself, "What does she do to her clothing to make it so distinctive? This isn't exactly a designer brand, is it?"

"What? Don't look like it," Locke said, "I don't see a name on it anywhere..."

"Name! Of course!" for a moment I felt like kicking myself, and leapt to my feet, "Two seconds!"

Without waiting for a reply I dashed into the ensuite room and locked the door tight. A few moments' work found the light switch above the mirror, and then I yanked the article off my head and flipped it inside out.

"Tanis? Tanis! What're yer doing? Are you okay?"

"It's her name, Locke," I said quietly. Even upside down, I could recognise the poorly stitched 'Celestine Chere' in the lower brim of the hat, "I forgot; she puts her name on all her clothes. Always has done."

"Well, then we'll have to ditch the hat! Forget about what your mate wants; your _life_ is on the line here, pal!"

Slowly, I put the hat down and stared at myself in the mirror. It was the same face that I'd seen every morning in the mirror, although somewhat more grimy and unshaven then I would have liked. The same, unremarkable face; if it weren't for my strange, emerald-green locks then I could probably blend in anywhere in the world, but as it stood...

"The hat has to stay on, Locke," I said firmly, "The little guys aren't the problem here."

"What? What do you mean? One of them had a damn _knife_ to your throat, you fool!"

Those emerald locks...thanks to the Imperial propaganda campaign, I suspected there would be very few people in the built up areas who _didn't_ know what they meant...

"That's only because..." I paused for a moment, and thought of all the different things I could've done to Mick, had I not desperately wanted to keep my disguise, "...because I knew you had my back, Locke."

"That's not what you said earlier!" there was a rap at the door, "C'mon, open up!"

"I was lying earlier," I sighed, "Look; while I'm in here I may as well take a shower. I need to think about this, so could you give me fifteen minutes?"

Under any other circumstances, my first shower after god knows how long would've felt glorious. As it was, I was so wrapped up in thought I could barely feel the steaming water dripping down my face and bouncing off my back. The way I saw it, this contractor, who pretty much _had_ to be from Imperial Intelligence, was the biggest threat to me at this point in time. All the little guys were just that; little, annoying distractions that I could very easily deal with if I absolutely had to, and he'd sent them off looking specifically for the one thing he knew I absolutely couldn't take off around here; the damn hat. A yellow bean cap in the height of summer made me look slightly nutty, sure, but I'd risk instant recognition if it came off my head, and worse; I'd be _remembered_, and I could think of few better ways to get a three-oh-eight lodged deep in my brain cavity than by leaving a blaze of emerald green hair in everyone's memory from here to Narshe.

It probably didn't matter, anyway; he'd almost certainly know by now that Mick had failed and that I was on this train - or at least headed in this direction, but I was damned if I was going to make it any easier for him. For now, I decided, the hat had to stay on, but...I had to let Locke in on the lie; he'd killed to protect me and presumably called in a favour to get us out of South Figaro as soon as possible, and although there was probably an element of avoiding arrest tied up in that the fact remained that he was still the only person on the whole continent who hadn't, so far, tried to impede my progress.

Finally, and it was a _big_ finally, there was the fact that Imperial Intelligence clearly _knew_ that Celes had helped me escape – the fact that they were looking for her name on clothing _I_ was wearing was all the proof I needed. That knowledge formed a tight, red-hot ball in my stomach in a way that all the threats on my life had totally failed to, and I desperately wished, above all else, to let her know somehow exactly how much danger she was now in.

The hot water suddenly stopped with a click. For a brief period I frowned at the shower head, before coming to the conclusion that it was likely on a timer of some sort. Feeling slightly annoyed that I hadn't had a chance to actually _enjoy_ my shower, I nevertheless climbed out and towelled myself down before (with a grimace) clambering back into my horrible, mucky clothing. A quick look in the mirror revealed that I was going to need more than a brief shower to look presentable again, and so with a sigh I crammed Celes' hat down over my head and unlocked the door.

"Yer done in there?" Locke's voice was strangely edgy when I finally re-emerged, "Ah, an' I see the world-famous hat is nice an' secure on yer bonce once again, same as it ever was."

"What's up with you?" I frowned, "Look, Locke, I've got something to tell yo-"

"Nah, you've got some _'splaining_ to do, pal," Locke said menacingly, and held up a large, leathery object for my inspection. With a sudden thrill of shock, I realised what it was.

"Oh, so yer recognise this, then?" Locke smiled in a rather nasty way, "Would yer care to tell me exactly who it belongs to, then?"

"You already know, surely," I said blandly. Locke was in for a rude awakening if he thought that I was going to be intimidated by his rather curious interrogation techniques. After the week I'd had, there was no sodding way I was going to be broken down this roughly, "I didn't steal it, though."

"Oh, no, I believe yer on that count," Locke nodded, and flipped it open to reveal Celes' identification on the inside sleeve, "Seems like you've some high up friends in the Imperial Army, eh lad? I've heard about this one, too; cold as ice, they say. Strange that she'd care enough about a lowly unenlisted handyman to give them her wallet," he peered for a moment above my forehead, "An' her hat, too, by the looks of it."

"Oh, did I put it on inside-out?" I thought about this, "Great, and I just bloody washed my hair, too – look, Locke, can you hold off on the inept good-cop bad-cop act for a second? I'd like to answer your-"

"Yer more than an unenlisted handyman though, aren't yer," Locke flipped the wallet sleeve around to reveal a small black-and-white photograph. I recognised the photo, of course; it had been taken two years ago right about the time that the rest of Magitek program was starting to be declassified.

"That's you, isn't it?" Locke tapped the figure on the left, "Yer a little younger, but I'm pretty sure I recognise you, an' I know that figure at the back."

"Professor Cid? I would've thought he's basically world famous," I said simply, "Obviously, that one on the far right is Celes."

"So, who's that girl?"

"That-" my heart jolted unpleasantly as I looked at the photo. The other girl was, naturally, Terra, kneeling down just in front of Professor Cid with a bright, happy smile on her face, "That's Terra. Terra Branford."

"Oh, aye, I heard o'her, alright," Locke inspected the photo, "Well, if she's Terra, then that must mean that yer not who yer claim to be-"

"Bloody _hell_, Locke, can you drag this out any further?" I snapped, my patience suddenly frayed by the photo. Without another word, I took the hat firmly in my grasp and ripped it off, "Well done, mate! Yeah, I'm Firmament! Congratu-bloody-lations! That's what I've just been trying to tell you!"

There was a long silence, barring the 'ch-chuk' of the train running along the tracks.

"I thought so," Locke nodded grimly, "A million gil for a runaway handyman? No way – an' I get the hat as well, now."

"Yeah," I sat down heavily, "You probably do."

"So, yer not dead, then," Locke gave me a slightly wan grin, and I snorted in amusement, "The Empire lied about that?"

"Well, obviously," I rolled my eyes, "I think they probably found some poor stooge to stand in for my corpse."

"So they lied to yer sister, then? I heard that she were grieving for yer on the radio earlier today."

"No...no, she was in on it – while being completely innocent, of course," I quickly corrected myself, "I thought Kefka said that they were going to engineer it so we both 'died', but I guess he decided to try and play the sympathy angle. Well," I added darkly, "him or someone else. 'Sides, she'd be able to tell that I'm alive. It's a Mage Knight thing."

"Why're you here, then?"

"I...suppose I may as well tell you everything," I sighed, "Look, Terra –my sister-...they've enslaved her. I don't really know how, but I _do_ know that she tried to blow up a transport I was standing in and that's...not really like her. Apparently she's going to Narshe-"

"-Narshe?" Locke said suddenly, and his expression became wary, "That's...interesting."

"-probably, but I don't really care what's going on there," I shrugged, "I'm just going to Narshe so I can head her and her handlers off. Once I've freed her from that blasted Slave Crown, I...I don't know, really."

"Yer'll take the fight to the Empire?" Locke said, in a tone of voice that was a _touch_ too hopeful for my liking.

"Locke, I'm a trainee Sentinel," I sighed, "I...we don't _do_ killing. On t'other hand, I'm willing to bet that Terra won't be _particularly_ happy about what they've done to her, so when I free her there'll probably be an object lesson or two in there for certain people."

"Maybe I can help yer there," Locke said furtively, "There's a small, underground group who're hopin' to strike out against the Empire. Maybe yer-"

"Oh gods," I rested my forehead on my fingers, "Don't tell me you're talking about the 'Returners'. Please, _please_ don't tell me-"

"You've heard of us, then?" Locke brightened up ever so slightly.

"Yes," I said, and tried not to feel incredibly depressed, "Yes. I have heard of you. Now, can we quickly move on before someone overhears that a trainee Sentinel is fraternising with a member of a terrorist organisatio-"

"Freedom fighters!" Locke corrected me sternly.

"Fine, fine, whatever," I really couldn't be bothered to argue the point, "It's not like you've ever managed to blow anything up, so I guess the point is kinda moot. Now, let's move on for now..."

If I was being honest, the Returners are something of a sore point as far as I'm concerned. For one, I'm repeatedly lumped in with them and their efforts despite the fact that I never actually 

_joined_ them (I'm a Sentinel; you simply _cannot_ be a Sentinel and join a private military organisation). Furthermore, you've got all those goons prancing around saying 'Hey, the Returners, like, _totally_ brought peace to the world, man!' to which the answer is 'No they didn't, you worthless sack of imbecilic, inbred genetic offal!' Seriously, if you believe that the Returners brought peace to this planet then I know of this lovely prime real-estate that you might be interested in, right between Kohlingen and Jidoor.

Get the point? We'll be returning to this one later, anyway.

Unfortunately, once Locke had gotten over his initial adrenaline rush of discovering who I was, he settled firmly into Stage Two of my 'Meeting a Mage Knight' flowchart, which was to say that he was treating me as if I were a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any moment. Of course, it didn't do any wonders for my already frayed temper to suddenly find myself being treated with kid gloves, and so we entered a vicious cycle of ever deepening anxiety and irritation which, after a couple of hours, resulted in Locke finally beating a hasty retreat to the buffet carriage. Suddenly without anyone or anything to take my mind off my situation, it didn't take long for me to spiral into a deep, melancholic gloom, and when my terrorist friend finally returned from stuffing himself he found me curled up on one of the seats, staring into nothingness with a look of deep concern on my face.

"Are you alright, Firmament?" he said cautiously, "I, uh, I brought yer some dinner, if you're interested."

"I'm okay, I suppose," I sighed, "I'm-"

"Yer worried about Terra?" Locke said, almost gently, and there was a 'clack' as he placed a plate piled high with food on the floor by my feet. I nodded silently in response.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Firmament," he continued, reassuringly, "We're makin' good time, and you'll see, yer'll be back together in no time."

"I'm not worried about the future, I'm _angry_ about _now_," I snarled suddenly, and Locke took a tentative step backwards, "_Stop that_, Locke! I'm not about to carbonise you...but when I think of what they could be doing to her...y'know, it makes me want to break those vows I haven't actually made yet."

"I don't think anyone would blame yer," Locke said simply, "Were yer close?"

"You mean in proximity? Sure," I felt the flare fizzle into thin area, leaving behind the same lethargic melancholy, "We had to take most of the same classes till we were sixteen, and then budget cuts forced us to live in the same room, 'cause nobody else wanted to share a room with either of us...that was, uh, awkward. Some interesting rumours came from that, let me tell you."

"I-"

"But if you want the truth?" I gave him a weak smile, "A lot of the time, I couldn't stand her. Always so bloody _cheerful_, so damn _confident_ about everything – so on top of her own sodding life that she started to try and organise _mine!_ She wouldn't even bloody listen when I objected, 'cause she was so goddamn _certain _that _everything she did was right!_"

"I'm sure yer loved each other, deep down," Locke said.

"Please don't say that," I shook my head despairingly, "You make us sound like Thamasian siblings. But on the other hand...here I am, rushed off my feet with assassins baying for my blood, and running to the arse end of sodding nowhere to try to rescue my cheerful, borderline-arrogant sister from whatever it is they've done to her, and in the end she'll probably just keep on attempting to control my life. Pretty strange form of love, eh?"

"Ah, I don't, Firmament," Locke sat down next to me, "Y'see, I had a brother, back in Kohlingen. We were like what it sounds like you an' Terra are; he were always the one with his head in the game, an' I always liked to go out wandering, y'know, finding stones with snails in them and such. We used to fight like blazes over how he were always doing the lion's share of the work while I was off dreamin', but when he took over t'family business he always made sure that there were a room for me if I needed it, an' that one time when it were about to go under I helped him out until better times came along. Lookin' back on it, I think he probably felt like he _had_ to look out for me when we were kids, not that he _wanted _to."

"That's a lovely story, Locke," I couldn't help but inject a small amount of sarcasm into my voice, but suddenly a minor detail jogged in my memory, "Wait, you said 'had'. What happened to him?"

"'E died when the Empire attacked Kohlingen," Locke said roughly, "Bomb landed right on his house – killed his whole family."

"Oh...I'm sorry," I said, suddenly feeling very guilty indeed.

"Ah, weren't yer fault," Locke replied with a shrug, "The point is, when my brother were always shoutin' at me to get in line, he was just worried about me. Maybe yer sister's the same; terrified that yer'll get hurt if she's not always around to look after you, an' I'm sure she'll grow out of it soon enough."

"Gotta get to her first, though," I pointed out.

"I'm sure we will, Firmament," he replied reassuringly, "But yer can't worry about that now."

"I...I suppose you're right," I uncurled, and turned to look at the meal Locke had so kindly brought back with him, "And Locke?"

"Aye?"

"It's Firma."


	13. Chapter 12: Time Out

Chapter 13 – Unlucky for some

**Chapter 12 – Time Out **

Okay, okay, so I may have been a little hard on Terra in that last bit there – but c'mon, everyone with siblings knows, for a fact, that your brother or sister was put on this planet simply so they could annoy the ever-lovin' _seaweed_ out of you at every possible turn. I mean, I know that I've got more than one personality flaw (nestled, admittedly, in amongst all that unremitted _awesome_) and, yes, I've said and done a few things that I'm not that proud of…but I have never, _never_ delivered a fifteen minute sermon to someone about the relative merits of carefully organising one's sock drawer according to colour and size whilst somehow remaining totally oblivious to the blatant desire of my roommate to insert my head into the aforementioned drawer and _start slamming it repeatedly until bits start to-_ I'll, uh, stop there. Calm blue oceans, Firma…calm blue oceans.

You know what set all this off? It was that bloody budget cut that forced Terra and I into the same room. Aside from the fact it was blatantly illegal (Imperial Army barracks were, by law, segregated on the basis of gender) it also meant that I suddenly had absolutely no damn personal space. Not only did I have to attend the same damn lessons and training exercises as my sister (_and_ still endure the relentless comparisons between us) I also had to deal with having her stuff in my space and my stuff being suddenly organised according to some bloody stupid algorithm completely outside the understanding of anyone who wasn't at least a little bit loopy to begin with. Try it yourself; move into a small room with someone, and I guarantee that no matter how pally you may be when you start out there _will_ come a point where someone's papers are just over that ill-defined line down the centre or a sock pile is two inches left of its designated place and suddenly everything goes to hell…and in our case you can probably imagine exactly how destructive some of those arguments got.

In all fairness, I'm sure I got on Terra's nerves as much as she got on mine, if she'd only admit it. You've probably worked out by now that she's a pretty logical creature who likes to have everything 'just so', and the shock of having to share a room with someone who couldn't really give a damn about state of affairs (provided there were always a pair of socks available) may have just started to send her over the edge.

In the end, I suppose it was probably a good thing; after all, I could only stand to see Terra in a fractious, tearful state for so long before I started to put things back where I found them, and as for her – well, I think it taught her to loosen up a bit, which is probably a godsend when you consider what she's doing now.

Sorry about that, but it needed to be said. There's only one other thing I'd like to mention, and that's the various, uh, 'rumours' that started up as a result of our totally unwanted matchup. While they don't really bear repeating, it does let me bring up the quick mention of 'Thamasian siblings' for those who can't work it out for themselves. I'll keep this brief (mainly so my fiancée doesn't tear me to shreds) but you should already know about the supposedly shallow nature of the gene pool in the Thamasa region. Now, why would that be?

Exactly.

The summer evening drew on as our train raced northwards, and Locke finally lifted the blinds just as the sun started to dip below the horizon. Personally, I thought that he was exaggerating the strength of the sun by just a _touch, _but I decided not to press the matter. If nothing else it looked like he wasn't_ quite_ over his fear of my magical abilities yet, and I certainly didn't want to give him any cause to have a relapse on me. For now, I decided, the best thing to do was to try to forget about my problems and enjoy the golden light flooding through our little cabin.

"It's a beautiful country," I admitted, finally, "Well, in its own way."

"Some people'd call it 'rugged'," Locke said, "But I see yer point."

"Mmm," I nestled down in my seat, and felt the tension in my muscles begin to ease, "So many cactuses..."

"Yeah, I suppose there are."

"I had a cactus once, y'know."

"Oh aye?" Locke, clearly, didn't know quite _what_ to make of this groundbreaking statement.

"'Brought it from a plant shop..." I added sleepily, "Think I called it 'Baron Knuckles', or something like that. I _do_ know I brought it a little monocle and a top hat, though."

"Fascinatin'."

"Best pet I ever had, that cactus..."

As far as I know, that was the last thing I said before I fell asleep. I certainly _hope_ it was the last bloody thing that I said before I fell asleep, anyway, because the alternative is that I ended up subjecting Locke to a solid hour of random facts about Baron Knuckles, which...well, that's pretty horrifying even for me to contemplate, and I had the little fellow sitting on my desk for the better part of four years.

Anyway, I'm getting a little bored of dealing with current events (read: events of seven years ago) so we're going to have a little break with tradition here. That's right, team; we're going to have a bit of backstory! So, children, gather round, and I shall tell you about 'The day that nothing happened...'

Once upon a time, or rather the twenty-sixth of August, nine-ninety seven, I awoke to find that it was a beautiful, sunny day, which was the way of things back when Vector actually _got_ decent summers. 'Twas the time before the major budget cuts, too, so I had my own lovely, spacious room, replete with fineries like a comfy bed, halfway-decent stationary, and a chair that didn't collapse as soon as you sat on it! Truly, children, these were the promised times.

Of course, some things never changed; and although Terra didn't have unfettered access to my kidneys, she had perfected the art of hammering on my door in such a fashion that the entire room reverberated with every solid 'thud' of her fist.

"Wake up, Firma!" her voice came, muffled, yet still piercing, "It's gone eleven! You can't spend the whole day in bed!"

"Wanna watch?" I muttered snidely to myself, but in truth the day was far too sunny, too peaceful to spend the whole day inside. In any case, Sundays didn't come along _every_ day of the week.

It took me barely two minutes to throw on some clothes and get my boots on; several years of midnight fire drills and random exercises had seen to it that I had nigh _perfected_ the art of dressing in a flash, and, having managed to make myself decent, if not presentable, I threw open the door just in time to intercept Terra's descending fist with my face.

"Ow!" I cried, and clutched my hand to my nose, "Thodding hell, Thee!"

"Nice catch, Firma," Terra said tartly, and put her hands on her hips, "Did I wake you at a bad time?"

"_Any _time is a bad time, as far as I'm concerned," I retorted, "Especially when my alarm clock involves being punched in the fa- hey...are those _dreadlocks_?"

"They may be," Terra said defensively, and reached up to idly finger one of the green tendrils, "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to me," I shrugged, "It's going to mean a _lot_ to bloody you when the Commandan-"

"Ah, he can't do anything," Terra said airily, and her tone that suggested that she _knew_ she was right, "Not against a religious statement, anyway."

"You joined a religion?" I snorted.

"I may have done," she smirked an impish, yet incredibly annoying smirk.

"But...but didn't you go to that Atheist's League meeting just last week?" I put my fingertips to my forehead, "Okay, Tee, at least tell me _which_ religion you've signed on with."

"The one that lets me wear my hair however I like it," she inclined her head and gave me a cool, critical look, "Maybe you'd like to join."

"Ah-hah," I rolled my eyes, "It's a good thing your new religion doesn't require a sense of humour, or you'd be right back with the AL. _Anyway­-_" I decided that this conversation was rapidly going nowhere, "-what do you want? Don't tell me you're pining for my company."

"I'm hurt, Firma," Terra put her hand to her breast, "Isn't a caring sister allowed to talk to her brother without raising immediate suspicion?"

"Sure," I raised an eyebrow, "Bring her out and we'll have a chat. Now, what did _you_ want?"

"Actually, I _did_ just want to talk to you, really – no, _honestly_," this time, Terra _did_ look slightly hurt, "I know you've been busy lately with all those Sentinel applications, but, um, well..."

"Did you have another fight with Alae?" I sighed, and she nodded mutely, "Okay, come on in."

"Your room is still a mess," Terra remarked, as she stepped over the threshold, "Didn't I tell you to tidy up?"

"Yes, mother..." quickly, I sent a prayer to whoever might be listening.

"I mean, you haven't done anything with that sock pile since the last time I was here!"

"Actually, it has," I quickly leapt to the defence of my heap, "It's...been regenerated."

"Same pile, but different socks?"

"Let's just say the strata have shifted and leave it at that, shall we?" I didn't really feel like explaining the careful system I had in place for my socks at that _precise _moment in time.

"But haven't I told you to keep all of your socks in one place?"

"They _are_ in one place!" I pointed out, irritably, "That place just happens to be the sock pile!"

"How about your drawers?" Terra pointed out the large wooden setup at the end of my bed, "Don't you think that would be a much better place for them? What if the Commandant had a room inspection?"

"Don't worry; I've got a contingency plan," I gestured at Terra's exciting new hairdo, "I'll just stick a three by five photo of your dreadlocks on my desk. That should distract him long enough for me to squirrel everything away."

"That's not nice," Terra protested, "What have I done to you to deserve that?"

"Aside from just punch me in the face?" I turned away to my desk, "Hang on; I'm sure I have my list around here somewhere..."

"That's not funny!"

"I dunno, I thought it was pretty amusing..." I took a long hard look at my sister, and decided that there was definitely something on her mind, "Okay, Tee, what happened between you and Alae _this_ time? I swear, you guys fall out more often...than, uh, radioactive dust particles?"

"That was clever, Firma," Terra fixed me with a scornful look, "I'm glad you said it."

"Yeah, so am I," I coughed, "Now, spill the beans."

Obviously, having never been a sixteen year old female I'm not...really qualified to comment on this, but from my experiences it seems like girls of that age can fall out over pretty much bloody _anything_. Unfortunately, when you're dealing with someone who's as much whammy as Terra at their fingertips, the last thing you want to do is have hormonally-driven emotional imbalances thrown into the mix. Believe me; I'm absolutely _stunned_ that we all managed to get through to the comparative sanity of adulthood with no more than the occasional scorched eyebrow.

I should point out that I'm probably one of the _last_ people who you want to turn to in the event that you have friendship issues, but for some reason several years of bad advice had gone totally unnoticed Terra by. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm pretty sure that the _actual_ reason for that is that Terra, in keeping with tradition, listened carefully to everything I had to say and then, just as carefully, discarded it and went her own way. This time was almost certainly the same, but that didn't stop me from having to say the same damn things that I'd said a million times before.

"C'mon, Tee," I sighed and rolled my eyes, "We've been through this a thousand times before. When Alae says 'does this make me look fat?' the correct answer, in _every case_, is 'no'."

"But it _did_ make her look fat!" Terra protested.

"How can _anything_ make Alae look fat?" I gave her a quizzical look, "What was she wearing; a diving suit?"

"Well...it didn't suit her, anyway," she replied, slightly sulkily, "And I was trying to help! You know how she likes Magnus Ironsides, right?"

"Yeah, along with just about everyone else with two X chromosomes," I muttered darkly, "'Course, with a silly name like that, it'd be a letdown if he _wasn't_, uh, as absurd as he is."

"Speak for yourself, _Firmament_," Terra said snidely.

"I'm sorry; I thought we were talking about _your_ general social awkwardness," I pointed out, "You'll have to tell me exactly how this mysterious article of clothing made Alae look, uh, overweight."

"I don't know!" Terra waved her hands in the air, "It just did! Then she accused me of trying to sabotage her self-confidence and ran out of the room crying!"

"Were you trying to sabo-"

"No!" Terra replied hotly, "Besides, Magnus is a jerk; he insulted my dreadlocks!"

"I take back everything I've ever said about him," I smirked, "Clearly he's a character of taste and discernment."

"_You're_ a jerk, too," Terra looked morosely at her shoelaces, "I suppose I am, too."

"Oh, stop beating yourself up, Tee," I shook my head, "I'm sure there's just something else weighing on Alae's mind; if you go and apologise than I'm sure she'll be only too happy to make up."

"What if she doesn't?"

"What makes this time any more remarkable than the last fifty?" I smiled wryly, "'Course she will! Just say 'sorry' and you'll be crying and hugging each other and wondering how you ever let something like this come between you and-"

"Okay, okay, I understand," she said quickly, and hopped back to her feet, "Thanks, Firma!"

"Was that it?" I asked, as she started towards the door, "Glad to be of service, I guess..."

"Oh, no – that reminds me," Terra half-turned back towards me, "Did you remember that Sergeant Cester wants to see us at three?"

"What? Where?"

"You _forgot_? Oh, Firma; you're hopeless!" she sighed, "Three pm, by the motor pool, right? Don't be late!"

"I'll do my best," I replied, and waved her off as I turned to rummage through my desk, "You go and patch things up with Alae, okay? And for gods' sake; _think_ about what you say next time."

There was a 'huh!' from Terra's general direction, and then a gentle 'click' as the door was brought to. I shook my head wearily, and turned to look quizzically at Baron Knuckles, who seemed to be enjoying the sunshine beaming down on the windowsill.

"How long d'ya think they're going to hold it together this time, then?" I asked cheerily, "I give them a week."

The cactus said nothing. It almost never did.

"Well, could you at least help me find my pen?"

The day past uneventfully, although when I went hunting some lunch I was slightly relieved to see Terra and Alae talking furtively in the far corner of the mess hall. I decided to ignore them; Alae was rather too bossy and focused for my tastes, but at least it was good to see that they'd managed to make up. Eventually, time dragged around to the point where I had to wander over to the motor pool and see what, exactly, Cester wanted with us. I _was_ curious, I admitted to myself; as a trainee in the IAF I generally didn't spend much time with the heavy metal or their mechanics, and to be frank this sudden summons made me more than a little suspicious.

"You're late, Branford," Cester said as I approached. To be honest, Sergeant Cester was _not_ the sort of person who you wanted to be late around, mainly because he was easily a foot taller than me, probably a good foot broader, and with a face that suggested that he was either perpetually angry at some facet of the universe or extremely constipated. Having made mistakes in his presence in the past, I knew full well from experience that it was a very bad idea to screw up when he was around.

"Sorry, sir," I said, and quickly checked my wristwatch, "I...I guess my watch must be running slow, sir."

"Sorry! Sorry I'm late, sir!" Terra came running in, slightly red from exertion, "My...my..."

"Your watch running slow as well, Branford?" Cester gave Terra a chilling look, and for a moment she seemed very small indeed, "Branford, why the _hell_ isn't your hair cut according to regulation?"

"Well, I-" Terra gave me a pleading look, but all I could do was shrug emphatically, "I-I-"

"Attention, both of you!" Cester snapped, and it was a command that didn't bear ignoring, "I can't believe that this is the sort of soldier that we're producing these days! In my time we were punctual, we were in _uniform_-" he stopped to glare suddenly at my casual Sunday clothes, "-and we _didn't _wear_ goddamned dreadlocks,_ Branford!"

"Sorry, sir!" I said, suddenly feeling quite irritated at Terra for omitting that simple fact.

"S-Sorry, sir!" she echoed.

"Well, we'll hold the punitive measures for now, as it _is_ technically your day off," Cester relented slightly, "But you'd best have those damn locks gone by tomorrow, Branford, or it'll be your hide!"

"Yes sir!" Terra paled visibly.

"Good," the sergeant said, "Now, follow me."

"Don't you even _think_ of saying 'I told you so'," Terra muttered to me as we followed dutifully behind Cester, "Don't you even bloody _think_ it."

"Too late. Besides-" I fixed her with a glare, "I was going to thank you for reminding me to turn up in uniform. Much obliged, really."

"Hey, I did you a favour by reminding you to turn up," Terra sniffed, "Can you imagine what Sergeant Cester would've done to you if you weren't here?"

"It would've taken you two seconds to tell me, Tee; _two seconds_!"

"Maybe _I_ forgot. I don't remember ever claiming to be infallible."

"You're bloody useless as a PA, you kno-"

"Be quiet!" Cester snapped suddenly, "If I have to hear another moment of your bickering then I swear I'll slam both of you in the brig! You're soldiers in His Majesty's Imperial Army, so _act_ like it!"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Cester glowered at the two of us, and I remembered exactly _why_ I didn't spend much time around the ground crews. Finally, thankfully, the sergeant gave Terra's crop of tendrils one last withering glance and turned away.

"Right, you two," he growled, "I suppose you're wondering why I've dragged you, in all your _finery_-" I winced, "-down 'ere on this lovely Sunday afternoon when you _could_ be spending your time relaxing and catching up on your sleep."

"Um...yes?" I replied, before quickly adding, "Sir."

"Neither of us spends much time around here, sir," Terra pointed out, echoing my earlier thoughts, "I mean, Firma's just about to start training as a Sentinel and I - well, you take our demolitions classes, so..."

"What could the motor pool possibly want with the Empire's Mage Knights?" Cester rumbled.

"Precisely, sir."

"A good question, Branford," Cester agreed, "Have either of you previously been involved in any propaganda exercises?"

"Of course, sir," I replied, "At least four...oh, _no_."

"Would this be number six, sir?" Terra asked, somewhat suspiciously.

"Six?" I frowned.

"Yes, Firma, we've done six," Terra replied, "Don't you-"

Cester rumbled dangerously, and we both immediately returned our full attention to him, "I _suppose_ you could call this another propaganda exercise, yes. There have been a few claims in the papers that you're both nothing more than lab rats and child soldiers, so what we need you two to do is to get out of IAF Wareydon for the day and see the countryside. We'll supply you with a car and a camera; on the way, we'll need you to take photos of yourselves having a nice day out and about in the country. Understand?"

There was a short moment while we gave one another faintly disbelieving looks, then, "Yes, sir!"

"Good," Cester gave both of us a stern look, "Don't be back too late, either. No doubt you both have full days ahead of you tomorrow."

"Child soldiers!" I spat, once we were safely away from the base and out of earshot, "Lab rats! Who the hell do they think we are, anyway?"

It was possibly fifteen minutes later. A few moments after Cester had told us to be back promptly, a jeep had been brought around from the back of the motor pool with, as promised, a large, rather unwieldy looking camera balanced precariously on the back seat. As both of us had managed to obtain our basic licences at about the same time, the decision of who was going to have the honour of driving the vehicle came down to the flip of a ten-gil piece...which had landed me firmly in the passenger seat, holding on for dear life while Terra had a good crack at attempting to break the local land speed records.

"You _are_ a lab rat, though," Terra pointed out, "You will be, anyway, once all those application forms of yours are finalised – and besides, what about all those times with Professor Cid? Don't tell me they don't qualify."

"Point, I suppose," my knuckles turned white as my sister navigated a tree-lined corner at what felt like several times the national speed limit, "Slow down, Tee! This isn't a bloody racetrack _or_ the runways; people _use_ these roads!"

"Sorry," Terra eased off slightly, "I still can't believe you're quitting the soldiering business, though. I bet the brass were _really_ happy about that one."

"Apparently, they very nearly vetoed my transfer request," I said, "According to Celes, anyway. It was only 'cause I got kicked out of Imperial Intelligence that they actually let it through."

"Good PR, I suppose," Terra snorted, "Mind you, I always thought that they wanted you in the Wraiths so they could get the 'Mage Knight Super Assassin!' angle."

"The thought had crossed my mind," I muttered, "I'll admit I'm glad I'm out of it, even if I _was_ almost court-marshalled over it."

"Yeah, that wasn't smart," my sister glanced over at me, "But they _never_ should have given you an order like that – not in my opinion. _Anyway_, that's long behind us now; what _you_ have to worry about is Anceleti. You've got a commanding officer there who actually _likes_ you, and you're going to quit?"

"What? No!" I shook my head furiously, "He already knows. Heck, he was one of the people who fought to get my transfer approved."

"But...won't that mean you're out of the squadron?"

"Nah; I just won't be able to fly warplanes," I shrugged, "The Sentinels always need good pilots; 'specially for transport and reconnaissance. Disaster areas don't take photos of themselves, you know – speaking of which, pull over here. This looks like a good place t-!"

You may, by now, have noticed that Terra isn't exactly the best driver in the world. This is pretty understandable (given the incredibly _poor_ level of tutelage we received) but it still didn't make it hurt any less when my sister's creative interpretation of 'pull over here' resulted in an emergency stop that, had I not been safely buckled up, would have resulted in me exiting via the windshield.

"Thanks, Tee," I said acidly, "I'll sleep safer knowing you're on the roads."

"You said pull over 'here'," Terra protested, "I thought we were going to miss a turning!"

"Have you ever considered that you may be a _touch_ too literally-minded, Tee?" I unclipped my seatbelt and hopped down, "Anyway, let's get some snaps for the brass. Where should we start?"

Whether through luck or judgement, I had to say that it looked like I had picked a beautiful place to stop. We had parked at the very top of a large hill, and as I looked out across the gently rolling hills I thought I could just about make out the aerodromes of IAF Wareydon, blazing in the bright afternoon sun. In the valley beneath us I could see the small town of Wareydon, nestled peacefully alongside the banks of the gently sparking Warey. At this time of day there seemed to be nobody on the streets, and no noise aside from the distant ringing of the church bells calling people to prayer. Beyond it lay gently rolling green hills, divided into small pastures by well-trimmed hedgerows, and specked with white or brown livestock.

Behind us lay a light, airy forest, with the larger oaks providing lightly dappled shade for the shrubs and smaller plants that covered the ground. The leaves shifted gently in the mid-afternoon breeze, scattering the light and momentarily something, previously unseen, to glitter merrily in the sun.

"Hey – what's that?" Terra scampered over to take a look, "Hey! Firma; check this out!"

Curious despite myself, I wandered over to have a look. What we'd spotted turned out to be a small pool, maybe three or so feet across and filled with crystal clear water. Darting here and there under the surface were the long, lithe shapes of-

"Fish!" my sister said happily, "I've never seen a fish before!"

"You had fish for dinner yesterday," I pointed out, "You said it tasted like soapy sewage runoff."

"But these are _alive!_" before I could stop her, Terra reached out and dipped her finger into the pool. Instantly, the shimmering shapes fled for the safety of the bottom.

"C'mon, don't scare them," I said reprovingly, "Look, but don't touch."

"I wonder what they feel like..." she wondered aloud, "Hey, Firma, when we're done here, do you mind if we pop into Wareydon? I want to grab some more pralines."

"Uh, sure, if the shop's still open. It _is_ Sunday, after all; Callista doesn't like it when people trade on her time, apparently."

"True," Terra said, and ran back to the jeep, "I suppose we'll have to finish up quickly and see!"

"Don't you want to spend more time outside?" I called after her, "When was the last time you got off base?"

"Two days ago," Terra came back, wielding a large black box that -I realised with a sinking heart- could only be the camera "'Course, that was a live fire exercise, so I suppose it doesn't really count. Now, hold still; I want to get a shot of you with the fishes..."

In all, we probably spent most of an hour and a half wandering through that forest, taking full advantage of being able to enjoy nature without having anyone yelling as us. Eventually, just as we came across a beautiful glade filled with bluebells, the camera gave a faintly disheartened 'clunk', followed by a long electronic while as it rewound itself back to the start.

"Well, that's that, I guess," Terra said, and gave a long, sad sigh, "I don't suppose they'll let us do anything like this again in the near future."

"Maybe you should try asking Cester nicely," I replied absently, and knelt down by the bluebells, "I wonder if Baron Knuckles would like some company."

"Those're endangered, Firma. Besides, what would you do with it?"

"Nothing, really," I stood up, "I wouldn't want to take it away from its mates, either. I'd just end up feeling bad."

"Oh, did I tell you?" Terra turned around and started walking back towards the jeep, "I'm thinking about transferring over to the Imperial Engineers."

"Really?" I blinked, "You mean the guys who build bridges, bases, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah," she replied, "I mean, I'm never going to be allowed to fight on the front lines, so what's the point of just training as a soldier?"

"I think they might make an exception to _that_ law for you, Tee," I said, "But...yeah, I see your point. What brought that on?"

"You did, really," Terra gave me a wry grin, "When you said you were going to transfer over to the Sentinels, I realised that there was other stuff I was a lot more interested in than soldiering. People _need_ clean water and shelter, y'know – and that's something that's _not_ handled by the Sentinels."

"You're right, actually – but you know what is, strangely?"

"What?"

"Capturing wild animals," I snorted, "Apparently I'm still going to have to go to rifle practice, so I can get better acquainted with the Remote Capture Gun or, uh, somesuch. Anyway; what qualifications can you get out of being part of the IEs?"

"Anything engineering related – I quite like the sound of the architecture courses, but there's sanitation, bomb defusal-"

"-please don't do that," I said quickly, "My heart couldn't take it."

Terra laughed, "Well, did you know the IE has a parachute division? Maybe I should join that, then."

"If you did you probably wouldn't be alone; _I_ might have to do that," I said, "Me! A bloody acrophobe! I can't stand heights!"

"Unless you're in a plane."

"Unless I'm in a plane – yes, thank you. The trouble is, parachuting involves jumping _out_ of the plane. That's the bit I'm, y'know, not particularly happy with."

"Why would a Sentinel need to parachute in anywhere? Don't you have those big choppers that you all rappel down from? I've seen them do it!"

"I suppose paras need medical treatment too," I shrugged, "Who knows, maybe it'll cure my acrophobia."

"It might make it worse," Terra said, and pointed suddenly, "Ah, there's the jeep!"

"So it is," I said, suddenly feeling slightly less happy than I had a few minutes ago, "I suppose we'd better go back to base, then..."

"Not yet! You promised that we'd go to Wareydon afterwards to grab some pralines!" my sister waved her finger under my nose, "I'm not letting you forget that."

"Fine, fine," I shrugged, "Works for me. I don't really want to head home yet, anyway."

"Good," Terra hopped into the driving seat, "Now, I _really_ want to see what this can do..."

I suppose I can't really comment, because I'm a pretty bad driver myself (hence the cycling everywhere) but I would really, really like to try and get the events of the next fifteen minutes out of my memory. Believe me, I've faced down soldiers, assassins, bears, psychos of every strain, and things that should not technically _exist_, and _none_ of them have elicited the same soul-destroying, gibbering _terror_ of having to sit in a jeep being driven by my maniacal sister down a road that makes a hairpin look like a goddamn train track. Thankfully, eventually, the trip into Wareydon came to an end, and we pulled into the quiet high street just as the bells in the ancient church announced, loudly, that it was just gone five 'o' clock.

Wareydon is, and still is (thankfully) one of those beautiful little towns that was built a long time ago, but it wore its age nobly even back when we were sixteen. As it was actually home to some pretty affluent people, the old look of the town was carefully maintained right down to the cobbles on the high street. The houses and shops themselves had managed to completely avoid the most recent round of Vectoran redecorating; instead of the expensive-but-hideous gilded nature of many of the Empire's new buildings, these were proper old red-brick and timber affairs; not necessarily beautiful, but certainly historic.

"I wonder how much it costs to keep that place thatched," I said, looking at a single-story whitewashed building at the end of the street, "Scratch that, I wonder how much it costs just to _live_ there."

"A lot, I think," Terra hopped out, "I'll be back in a tick!"

To be fair, there wasn't a whole lot to do in Wareydon, especially on a Sunday, so I decided to just wait out Terra's praline-purchasing orgy in the relative comfort of the Imperial Army jeep. Smiling distantly to myself, I stretched myself out on the seats and lay down, enjoying the fading chimes of the bells and the warm, but not oppressive sun beating down from overhead.

All too soon, it seemed, there was a click as the driver's side door opened and then a sharp pain as Terra prodded me in the top of the skull.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" she said quickly, and pushed me back into a sitting position before clambering in herself.

"Were you successful?" I asked. Terra smiled happily, and shook a large, plastic bag filled with caramelised nuts inches from my nose.

"Want one?" she said. I shook my head in response. She shrugged, and popped one of the nuts into her mouth.

"Shoot yourshelf," she said, starting the engine. Slowly, the jeep spluttered back to life and Terra –perhaps feeling slightly concerned about possibly hitting one of these ancient buildings- slowly nosed the vehicle out of the town and set it on a course for IAF Wareydon.

"So, home, I guess," she said, sounding almost despondent, "Nothing left to do now."

"We could go AWOL," I said, and looked longingly back at the peaceful little town, "Nah, Cester would find us. Besides, there'd be no fitting in with _your_ bloody dreadlocks!"

"Hey, stop that!" Terra snickered, and I fought off an urge to scream as she suddenly gunned the engine, "Firma...thanks, for earlier. Sorry for just imposing on you like that, too."

"No...no problem," I said, as I felt all the blood rush to the back of my skull.

"I know we haven't seen much of each other recently, but it was good to talk to you. You should come by more often, you know; I'm sure Alae would be happy to see you."

"Thank you for selling that one to me," I replied wryly, Terra laughed again.

"Well, as they say; home, Jenkins!" she gave a very un-Terra-like whoop, and the world around us became a blur.

Well, I hope you enjoyed that little interlude. I _know_ that there weren't any large explosions or tense, three-way standoffs, but to be honest those didn't really happen all that often. Like I've said so many times, Mage Knights are just normal people for the most part, and I thought it would be nice to share one of our slightly less military days with you.

That said, let's get back to the real world, where stuff _is_ just about to kick off...

I had no idea how long I was passed out for, but I know exactly what awakened me. Suddenly, the little cabin Locke and I were in became filled with a hideous screeching noise that brought me to with a jerk and a yell of pain.

"What the hell is that?!" I looked around quickly in the dark, and realised with a lurch that I was alone in the cabin, "Locke? Locke!"

My heart stopped for a moment as I heard someone scrabbling with the lock, and a yellow glow appeared around my right hand as I began preparing myself against any unwanted intrusions.

The door swung open with a bang, and the light from the hallway threw the character beyond into sharp relief. With a sigh, I slowly lowered my hand and killed the charge; it was Locke, although his expression suggested that everything was very far from okay.

"What's going on?" I said, woozily coming to my feet.

"Looks like some of my pals managed to get onboard t'train with us, Firma," he said tensely, "I don't know if any of them recognised me, but if I were you I'd keep those magic hands of yer's nice an' close. We may be needing them in a second."

"What? They're _here_? What're we going to do?"

"Well, the way I see it...we've got two choices. Either we fight 'em, and make a bloody huge ruckus, or...well, we have to get off the train. _Now._"


	14. Chapter 13: Sting Operation

**Chapter 13 – Sting Operation**

"Oh, bloody hell. _Again?_" I swore loudly, "I can't believe this keeps on happening! First Kefka, now random scrubs on the street?"

"Fir-"

"How _do_ these people find out what I'm going to do before _I_ know? Is there a circular or something that I'm just not getting?"

"We-"

"And Locke-" I fixed the clearly anxious man with a deadly stare, "What in the name of _hell_ is that noise?"

"As I were _about to say_, that's the emergency brakes kickin' in," Locke replied irritably. Quickly, he stepped inside the cabin and pulled the door to, plunging us into darkness, "I pulled the brake cord so's we'd be able to make a quick getaway once the train judders to a stop."

"Oh, right," the train jolted violently and nearly tipped me off my seat, "So, uh, shouldn't we be making tracks?" I thought about that for a second, and then added, "If you'll pardon the pun."

"Just a minute, Firma," Locke said quietly, "Any minute now the corridor'll be full of passengers all complainin' and shoutin' about their precious sleep being interrupted. We'll slip off the train in the commotion – and before yer object, there's something else you should know."

"There always is," I muttered, as I clawed my way back to a sitting position, "Do go on."

"Yer know that man I were telling you about? The killer?"

"You mean the one who's blatantly an operative from Imperial Intelligence?" I snorted, "Don't tell me; he's on the train."

"Good guess," Locke's voice was so tense it nearly thrummed, "If we try to leave without decent crowd cover...well, I think yer'd be a handbag by sunup."

"That's, uh, an interesting way of putting it," I raised my eyebrows in the dark, "Y'know, they don't actually _skin_ people in-"

There was a sudden 'bang' from the corridor, and it was all I could do to avoid leaping completely out of my skin. A moment later, however, there came the particularly annoying, whiny tones of someone totally unaccustomed to any form of inconvenience, and it was quickly joined by voices of all pitches and volumes as the entire carriage emptied, protesting loudly, into the corridor.

"Tha' sounds like our cue," Locke said, and there was a rustling noise as he felt around for the doorknob.

"Hey – why don't I just blast out the window?" I said, and even I could hear the anxious hum in my voice, "I'm, uh, not particularly good at being shot at."

"I was aimin' for something a little more subtle, pal," Locke replied sharply, "I don' like it, but if yer do that then we'll immediately alert our friends to exactly where we are. They may know we're on the train, but I'd rather have a good head-start while they snuffle around for us."

"Huh," I gritted my teeth and stood up, "Well, we may as well get this over with. How many people can there be onboard this train, anyway?"

As it turned out; there were quite a lot. While this fact probably shouldn't have been all _that_ surprising, given the size of the train, I was still left with the initial impression that everyone had decided to camp out and complain in front of _my_ damn door while they waited for someone to explain what was going on. The carriage was totally awash in well-pressed suits and expensive-looking dresses, making my badly-abused scrubs and Locke's very travel-worn coat suddenly seem very out of place. As we stepped out into the corridor to join our fellow passengers, we were greeted with a sudden wall of silence as the people nearby carefully inspected us from head to toe with an air _just_ superior enough to immediately set my teeth on edge.

"What?" I challenged them harshly.

"Leave 'em alone, Tanis," Locke said, and I breathed an inward sigh of relief, "No point in startin' a fight."

"What's going on?" a well-dressed woman nearby twittered, "Oh, this is a disaster! I'll _never_ reach Marquis Sadden's dinner party now!"

"I'm sure he'll be heartbroken to hear that," I muttered under my breath. The well-to-do woman's eyes suddenly narrowed.

"_What_ was that?" she demanded, "I will _not_ be spoken to so by the likes of you!"

"_Tanis_," Locke said irritably, "Leave 'er alone; let's go and find out what's goin' on."

"Aw, but she's such a _nice_ stereotype of the upper-middle class," I complained, earning myself a positively evil glower from the woman in question, "Okay, okay – I'm coming..."

"Are yer _always_ this pleasant when you've just woken up?" Locke asked acidly, as we brushed through the assorted crowd of lauded gentry and well-dressed businessmen, "I can see yer going to be easy to get along with."

"Normally I just end up having a slanging match with...my hat-friend," I said, looking around cautiously. Everybody seemed to have quietened down once again, but I was beginning to get just a _touch_ uncomfortable with being the centre of attention, "It keeps me young."

"How old are yer again?" Locke gave me an appraising look, "Early twenties?"

"Clearly it _doesn't_ keep me young, then," I gave him a faintly annoyed look, "If you _must_ know, I'm-"

A high-pitched scream of utter terror suddenly split the air, and Locke and I whipped around to see what was going on. As I did so, I felt a sudden, agonising pain score along my hip-bone and gash deeply into my side, and realised, with a faint sense of detachment, that I had just been stabbed. Clutching at my side, I stumbled back and fell to my knees as my would-be assassin –a well-dressed man almost indistinguishable from anyone else in the carriage- casually flipped the knife around and made a sharp slashing motion towards Locke's throat. Somehow, the Kohlinglese man managed to sway out of the way of the blindingly fast blade and leapt to safety, drawing his own knife in a single fluid motion as he did so.

"Fi-Tanis!" Locke's voice rang with worry. The air rang with the sound of metal on metal as the two men's knives clashed in midair, each trying to gain ground against the other. I, meanwhile, was beginning to feel a warm, slick feeling against the side of my arm, and wasn't entirely surprised to see rich, dark blood begin to seep from between my fingers.

"Oh my gods!" someone shrieked, their voice barely audible above the thudding in my ears, "Are you okay? Let me see?"

"I-I'm fine – _no_, don't touch it!" I jerked away clumsily as a set of fingers brushed against my arm, "Help my friend!"

With an effort, I forced away the descending cobwebs and funnelled my magical reserves into regenerating the wounded area. Although it would've happened quickly enough even without my intervention, I had no time to be wounded on the floor while Locke was engaged in a vicious knife-fight with another assassin. A hiss of pain 

made me look up, and I saw the two men circling one another in a predatory fashion, their blades meeting again and again before diving back for a momentary pause. Both of them, I realised clinically, were bleeding from multiple cuts, and I wondered how long either of them would last before a fatal mistake was made. Looking at Locke's face, I realised I had very little time in which to act.

There were gasps and shrieks as I removed my hand from my knife wound, exposing the brilliant blue-gold light of my healing energies to the world at large. A quick test of the area resulted in a small twinge, but it seemed to be safe for me to put my weight on it, and with a snarl of anger and another round of gasps I surged to my feet, bringing my offensive abilities to bear with a vicious 'crack' of electricity. There was a brilliant golden flash, and the entire carriage was bathed in the sun-bright light of the same snapping, crackling blade that I had used to cut through the hangar doors so long ago.

As it turned out, that was all that was needed. For just a moment, the assassin's attention was diverted as he stared fearfully at the lethal edge; in that instant, Locke lunged forward with a single powerful stroke and plunged his knife into the man's knife hand and then, as the well-dressed man howled in pain and dropped his weapon, brought the edge around in a smooth arc that terminated in the enemy's carotid artery. There was a brief scream and a spray of blood, and then the assassin slumped limply to the floor.

For a long, long time, the only noise in the carriage was the low, deadly crackle of my magical weapon. With a shake of my hand, I dismissed the weapon and wiped my bloodstained fingers across my face.

"That's two, then," I said coolly, and placed my hand on Locke's shoulder, "Are you injured?"

With what looked like an effort, Locke brought himself back to reality, "Ah, I'm okay," he said, although it was obvious it was false bravado, "I've had worse, certainly...but if you've got any of that magic left, then-"

"I'll deal with it when we're out of here," I said abruptly, "There are almost certainly others."

"Yer right," Locke replied, "We'd better get-"

From somewhere in the carriage, I heard the awful 'cla-click' of a round being slotted into a gun, and I had just enough presence of mind to call all my shielding into existence as a powerful retort echoed through the cabin. Almost simultaneously, there was a flash of golden light about my person and the scream of shearing metal as a small particle impacted on my hastily-erected defences and was reflected into the ceiling. The crowd screamed once again and parted hastily, revealing a tall man at the far end of the carriage.

Unlike the other man, this one was _not_ in disguise; instead, he was dressed in the all-black uniform of the Wraiths, and wore it with the arrogance of someone who knew he was more than a match for almost anyone. In his hands he was holding a long, powerful-looking rifle, and he was staring down the sights with an expression of mild surprise on his face.

"That's the man, Firma!" Locke hissed, and I nodded mutely in response. _Here_ was the man who had put a price on my head and had almost gotten me killed on two occasions... I felt a terrible, dispassionate coldness rise up from my core, and began to casually entertain several brutal options that would almost certainly get me kicked out of the Silver Sentinels.

"Get behind me, Locke," I said in a calm, almost serene tone of voice, "How far're we from the exit?"

"Not far."

"Good; get that door open," I replied, "I'll keep our friend busy here until you give us an exit."

I could feel Locke's gaze boring into the small of my back, but then he turned around and moved quickly through the crowd toward the exit. With him safe, I turned my full attention to the Wraith.

"I do hope that wasn't your best shot," I smiled nastily, and the men and women around me pressed themselves even further against the walls, "Would you like to try again?"

The gun barked again, and a second bullet was driven into the ceiling alongside its fellow.

"Too bad," my smile turned into an evil, crooked grin, "Did you bring a larger weapon?"

There was yet another deafening roar, and a third bullet pinged pointlessly off my shields.

"I suppose not," I shrugged, "I'll just take that one off you, then."

I extended my arm in a cold, imperious gesture and almost casually crooked my index finger. There was an unpleasant cracking noise from the far end of the carriage, and a blur of wood and metal spun through the air to slam painfully into my outstretched hand. With a casual glance at the weapon, I quickly operated the chamber and removed the remaining two bullets before tossing it over my shoulder.

"I suppose it's my turn now," I said calmly. The Wraith, now clutching at his broken fingers, looked quickly around the carriage for some form of exit, and his expression became slightly desperate as I called my sun-bright sword back into existence. If this assassin was going to be the first person I killed, I wanted to kill him in a way that allowed me to watch the life go out of his eyes. ..

"Firma! The door's open!" Locke said sharply, "Let's go!"

"Go on ahead," I replied evenly, "I'm going to terminate this little problem of ours."

"Firma! Come _on!_" Locke's voice became more insistent, "Reinforcements could arrive any second!"

"Then I'll terminate them too," I turned to face him, and from the way he drew back I judged my expression to be pretty terrifying, "I believe it's called 'sanitising'."

Another shriek tore through the cabin, and I turned back just in time to see the Wraith bring his elbow down hard on the corner of one of the windows. With a momentary surge of annoyance, I charged down the carriage towards my target just as the glass fell smoothly out of the window. With mere meters between him and me, I lunged desperately for his back as he vaulted over the side and fell awkwardly onto the sands below. My advantage lost, I stood in the window seething in cold fury as the assassin vanished silently into the night.

"Firma!" Locke shouted, "For heaven's sake, people're _waiting_ on you!"

For a moment, I gave some serious thought to just ditching the annoying Kohlinglese man and heading out after the damn Wraith. The reminder, however, that there were people who were depending on me –even if that wasn't the meaning of Locke's shout- brought me up short, and with a final twinge of dispassionate annoyance I allowed my shields and weaponry to dissipate-

-and was immediately hit with a sudden wave of emotion powerful enough to drive me to my knees. The events of the past few seconds flashed before my eyes, and I fought down a strong urge to vomit.

"Bloody hell," I panted, and looked to the nearest passenger for confirmation, "Did I really just try to _kill_ that guy?"

The passenger, already pale with fear, squeaked incoherently in answer and tried to melt away into the carriage walls.

"Oh 'eck..." I stood up on suddenly unsteady feet and gave everyone present a weak smile, "It's...its all good. Crisis averted."

"Firma – Firma, are you okay?" Locke brushed through the throng of bystanders, his face etched with concern, "Are yer back with us?"

"Y-yeah," I checked myself over. Barring the tear in my already half-dead scrubs, I seemed to be in almost perfect health, "Uh, sorry about that."

"We'll talk about that later," Locke said firmly, "For now, we'd better go before anyone _else_ catches up with us."

"Are you sure?" I looked at the window, "There's now a Wraith wondering around out there. That seems a little dangerous."

"As dangerous as you?" Locke gave me an appraising look, "From the looks of it, you arsed up his hand pretty bad with that little trick of yers. No doubt he's going to check in with his superiors before returning – I'd be stunned if he tried to attack you again after that little escapade."

"Fine...fine," I was far too drained to argue with him, "Let's go, then..."

Unsurprisingly, the passengers scattered before us as Locke and I wandered slowly down the carriage towards the emergency exit. At the end, I turned around and gave them all another weak smile.

"Sorry about that, guys," I said wanly, before turning to hop down onto the freezing sands. From the light of the train, I could see that the tracks were surrounded by low, scrubby plants that looked suspiciously like the ones that had torn up my scrubs early in the morning. Beyond that the world was lit only by the light of a half-moon, which was just enough to show the silhouettes of the occasional tree in the middle distance, but no real detail. What really took me by surprise, though, were the enormous mountain peaks that reared up about three or so miles away to the north.

"That's where we're headed," Locke said quietly, "We won't be able to take the train, but there's plenty of other tunnels under the mountain. I would've _liked_ to go through 'em during the day, if at all possible, but I suppose we can't have everythin', eh?"

"Wonderful," I said, lost in thought. Locke gave me another concerned look, but set off across the scrubland without another word. With a quick, nervous look around me, I gave a shiver and hurried to catch up.

Walking in the Figaran scrublands at night was, I decided, somehow _worse_ that walking in them during the day. The way I saw it, while there wasn't any sunlight scorching the hairs off the back of my arms, there _was_ an awful lot of incredibly painful, brambly plants under foot that –had I not channelled a fair whack of my magic into painkillers and regeneration- probably would've quite cheerfully torn me apart one metatarsal at a time. For a while, I experimented with generating a small ball of brilliant light so I could at least see _where_ I was placing my feet, but one look at Locke's expression put paid to _that_ plan, so I decided to get on with the painkillers and suffer in silence. Clearly, Locke's first experience of magic had not been one of the high points in his career, and, well, I couldn't exactly blame him.

"Alright, Firma," Locke said finally, "Would yer care to explain?"

"What happened back there, you mean?" I raised my eyebrows, although he couldn't possibly see.

"Aye," he replied flatly, "When I met yer, I thought I was dealin' with someone who were as harmless as a butterfly – annoyin', true, but totally harmless. Now I'm beginning to see why yer have a million gil bounty on yer head."

"Hey, that doesn't happen very often," I protested, "In fact, it hasn't happened in _years_."

"That's not very comfortin', Firma," Locke commented, "'Sides, yer haven't said what it _were_ anyway!"

"Okay, okay, fine..." I sighed, "How can I put this..."

I'm going to quickly claw back the reins from, uh, myself at this point in time for one simple reason - I'm pretty sure that my explanation to Locke ranks up there in the Top Five All Time Bad Explanations, and I'd kinda like to get this right on my second attempt.

I'd be surprised if most people here haven't heard of the 'fight-or-flight' response that most critters (including humans) exhibit during times of immense stress - you know, the tendency of animals to freeze, run like buggery, or start tearing whatever's causing them distress into itty bitty chunks of Critter Chow. Well...Mage Knights react differently – in fact, they react _very_ differently, as you just saw.

I'm going to take Terra as an example here, simply for reasons of character assassination (yes, I'm still fighting _that_ campaign). As you've seen, my sibling is generally a cheerful, easy-going person who (while admittedly a 

little off-kilter) certainly isn't the kind of person who goes around picking fights or shaking down poor innocents for their lunch money. While that's all well and good, should you be so unwise as to threaten her or anyone she cares about then you may end up having a problem on your hands, and by 'problem' I mean 'unstoppable goddess of hellfire-based death' who will then proceed to give you a rather nasty case of premature cremation.

You see (and I'm treading carefully now) most people have all these little inhibitions, ranging from 'don't spit in other people's faces' to 'don't mow down loveable forest creatures with a combine harvester'. These let us all get along in general happy-clappy harmony until we all get drunk and beat the snot out of one another – but rile up a Mage Knight and suddenly all those oh-so-important inhibitions (specifically, the 'do not cook humans at Gas Mark 5' one) all turn off at once, with predictably disastrous consequences. This is _not_ a random berserker rage here, though; behind those apparently psychotic gouts of flame and chilling smiles is actually a very careful, clinical analysis of the situation that will, generally, bring it to a close through the total annihilation of _only_ those responsible for it. Of course, the manner in which those people are wrecked is, uh, generally considered to be rather predatory and quite unpleasant (as you just saw), and I suspect that the rumours arising from the _last_ time Terra kicked off probably have something to do with why she hasn't had a date in the past year.

Oh my, did I let that slip out? Whoops. Well, while we're on the subject I may as well at least _talk_ about that rumour. You may have heard of a group of small-time-yet-really-quite unpleasant chaps known as the 'Birston Four'. A team from Figaro Intelligence had been tracking these particular thugs for quite a while, but before they caught up with them news filtered in that their latest genius plan was to kidnap some of Terra's wards and ransom them back to her at a cost roughly approaching the national deficit of Figaro. Before my lads could step in and stop this from exploding in everyone's faces, Terra (acting on a tip-off she obtained from _somewhere_ or other) paid the Birston Four a pre-emptive visit and, as soon as they opened the door, charcoaled them on the spot. Quite how she avoided being done for murder for _that_ one is anyone's guess (well, _I_ know, but you can guess), but I think that should tell you just about everything you need to know about Mage Knights. The reputation is, as they say, well deserved.

Locke and I moved quickly and quietly across the Figaran landscape, making for an apparently random point on the mountains rising up before us. Before long, however, my slowly-adjusting night vision revealed that there was a patch of darkness slightly blacker and more well-defined than the mountainside around it. Obviously it was a cave, although I had no idea why Locke had decided to head towards this one in particular, and a quick look at the thief's still-dark expression suggested that it probably wouldn't be a particularly good idea to ask. With a quick, scared look around, I scuttled after the thief and hurried into the relative safety of the darkness.

"D'ya reckon he's still out there?" I whispered, peering out into the nigh-oppressive darkness. Immediately, Locke clapped his hand down on my shoulder and spun me back inside the cave.

"Careful, pal," he murmured, "Yer don't wanna get your head shot off by this guy, aye? I know the type we're dealin' with here, and he's not about ter let the injuries yer inflicted on him get in the way of his target. 'soon as he treats himself, he'll be right back after yer with a new gun," Locke's eyes glittered nastily in the dim light, "'e's the sort that _they_ send out when the Empire really, _really_ wants yer dead."

"Oh, did you pick up on that as well?" I rolled my eyes, "Those high-calibre rounds were such a _subtle_ way to make a point, too."

"Well, yer lucky yer alive," Locke gave me a searching look, "People like him don't tend to miss."

"People like him don't always come up against magical shielding, I guess," I said, and decided to move the conversation on, "What're we going to do now? If we stick around here long enough he's bound to find us – and I don't know about you, but I'm _really_ not all that eager to get myself shot at a second time."

"Yer don't wanna be worryin' about any of that, Firma," Locke replied reassuringly, "I didn't pick this cave at random, y'know."

"You didn't?" I looked around, "It's almost completely dark, Locke; how could you have possibly have chosen this one _specifically_?"

"I'm...used to walking around here in the dark," he replied, somewhat evasively, "When yer in my line of work knowin' about places like this can be the difference between life 'n death."

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded slowly, "I think I'm beginning to understand. Anyway, what's so special about it?"

"Well..." Locke's voice moved away from me, deeper into the cave, "Back before they dug the cross-Kettenine express tunnel, these cave systems were the only way to get from the Kingdom of Figaro to the shoreline."

"Seems to me like they could've done them up a bit, then," I said, and waved my hand in front of my face, "This must be a claustrophobe's worst bloody nightmare."

"Oh, there's freight corridors a little way away, but they're all monitored 'n well-lit. Believe me-" there was a slight pause, and I judged that Locke had turned back to look at me, "-I don't want to be caught in one of those tunnels with our good friend gunning for us."

"No, I suppose not," I sighed, "D'ya reckon I could make a bit of light? There could be _anything_ wandering around down here."

"Oh, there definitely _is_," Locke said ominously, "This tunnel's about half the length of the freight tunnels, but it ain't hardly ever used 'cause of the...wildlife."

"What? There are _things_ _in here?_" I squawked. Instantly, two dazzling golden spheres flared into existence in the palms of my hands and shot off in different directions, throwing the deep, pitted rock of the cave walls into sharp relief as they scoured every nook and cranny for anything that might regard me as supper.

"Ah, calm down," Locke said reassuringly, "They hardly trouble anyone; 'sides, yer a sodding _Mage Knight_."

"You still could've mentioned them earlier," I retorted shortly. So far everything seemed clear, although there were so many damn little holes for..._things_...to crawl out of that I couldn't be entirely sure, and I didn't want to probe too deeply lest I woke something up. Just to be sure, I called in two crackling, spitting balls of blue-gold energy and put them just above and behind me, ready to strike in the event that this cavern turned out to have horrible, chittering teeth.

"Oh, aye?" Locke snorted, "When would you have liked me to tell you about them? When we havin' knife fights and bein' shot at by that Wraith? Besides-" he nodded at my two faithful body guards, "'looks to me like you've got the bases covered."

"Huh!"

We walked in silence for maybe fifteen minutes, although our pace was slowed by my admittedly rather anal tendency to examine every possible surface for any signs of hostile life. My two miniature suns bounded happily about the place like energetic puppies, plunging into crevices only to shoot out from holes further down the tunnel. The _other _balls, meanwhile, hung obediently just behind my head and supplied a crackling, warning thrum that managed to ease some of the anxiety running through my mind. After all, I muttered internally, I _was_ a godsdamned _Mage Knight_, and there was _no bloody way_ that any goddamn cave-dwelling creature could generate the same amount of moxie as I was prepared to, and if they so much as poked their little chitinous heads out of those disgusting holes they were going to end up finding themselves going toe to toe with someone who was having a _really_ bad day and quite eager to find other people to share it with.

I had to admit, after a while, that I was beginning to talk myself up just a _touch_. On the other hand, it did manage to calm me down quite a bit; especially considering that, despite his earlier reassurances, Locke seemed to be staying rather closer to me than normal and, I noticed, was nervously fingering the hilt of one of his knives.

"Everything okay?" I asked quietly.

"'not sure," Locke replied, "Somethin' doesn't feel right, but I don't hear nothing either. 'Course, if I remember their hive is supposed to be a litt-"

"_Hive_?" I frowned, "What, exactly, are these things? Bees?"

"Close enough," Locke gave the rock walls a quick, nervous once-over, "They may be bit bigger than what you may be used to, though."

"How much bigger, Locke?"

"Well, hard to say, really," he replied evasively, "Maybe a foot long-"

"A _foot_?" almost unbidden, another two crackling spheres flashed into existence aside their fellows, "Are you serious? How does that even _work_?"

"Beats me," Locke shrugged, "Never seen them myself. All I've ever heard is the buzzin'"

"Loud, is it?"

"Very."

"Wonderful," I replied flatly. For a while we walked nervously down the corridor before Locke, perhaps unwisely, tried to lighten the mood.

"Still, I don't think we've got too much to worry about; not with you around, anyway."

"I think you may be over-estimating my abilities, Locke," I watched tensely as one of my little search-balls hopped out of one hole and dove into another, "Why would anyone come down here, anyway? Surely there's easier ways to smuggle things into Figaro!"

"That's...not the only reason;" Locke said quietly, "Yer'll see in a second what I'm talkin' about."

"Would you stop answering everything in bloody riddles? That's getting to be a really annoying habit of – oh," I stopped suddenly, "Oh, right."

The walls to either side of us had dropped away, leaving us standing in a dark space that was too large for my two little friends to fully illuminate. Suddenly wary of large nasties lurking in the dark, I made the two globes orbit lazily a little distance from my person to give myself a little bit of a warning should anything attempt to make me a snack.

"'S big, isn't it," I remarked, and heard my voice echo off the distant walls.

"Ssh," Locke cautioned me. Immediately, I shut up and strained my ears for the warning buzz of giant bees. Once again, there was nothing but a dark, oppressive silence broken only by the crackle of my defensive spheres and...now that I came to think about it...

"Water?" I murmured, "Is that water?"

"Jus' be patient, Firma," Locke replied, "Yer'll see in a moment."

Slowly, the walls of the cavern began to glow a gentle, diffuse blue. At first it was almost indistinguishable from the dark, but it began to increase in intensity until it was enough to see the entire cavern. It was an impressively large structure with a gently stepped floor that rose towards the far wall, broken only by a large gulley that contained the clear, rushing water that I'd heard earlier. As the light grew brighter the ceiling came into view, revealing hundreds upon hundreds of long, slightly intimidating stalactites that hung over us in a manner that reminded me of...something, although I wasn't quite sure what it was.

"Hey, Locke," I said absently, as I wandered over to get a closer look at the walls, "Do you know about that story where that old guy ended up having dinner under a sword? The one where it was hanging by a hair or something."

"Sorry, pal," Locke replied, "Yer may want to watch it around those walls; those crystals're razor sharp."

"Oh, so these are crystals?" I leaned in for a closer look. Sure enough, I could see a strangely ordered array of long, rod like structures projecting maybe two inches from the wall, "Damn, I wish I could remember what that story was called. That's going to bug me now, y'know."

"Why would you have dinner under a sword, anyway?" Locke sounded faintly bemused, "Sounds like it could fall at any moment."

"I think someone was trying to teach him something," I sighed, and reached out curiously towards one of the crystals. As my fingers approached, the rod suddenly flared up and turned a dazzling ruby colour. Momentarily blinded, I jerked my hand away and felt a sudden slashing pain across the knuckles.

"Thuck!" I swore, and jammed the finger in my mouth, "Thodding thing juth cut me!"

"I warned yer," Locke sighed, "Is it bleeding?"

"Uh-huh," I took it out and looked at it. It looked to be a very clean cut, and as I watched more red blood welled to the surface, interspersed with the occasional glittering golden particle. I gave Locke another annoyed look and then jammed the finger in my mouth again.

It then, quite suddenly, occurred to me that Locke wasn't actually looking at me at all, but rather at something by my feet. Right on the heels of that realisation came another, equally chilling realisation that I wasn't, in fact, wearing furry slippers and that the cave itself wasn't _actually_ laid with warm, shag-pile carpeting.

"Firma," he said quietly, "Don't move, an' don't look down."

"What?" I made the immediate mistake of looking down, "What the-?!"

Quite suddenly, literally almost from nowhere, I had found myself surrounded by maybe two or three rather strange looking creatures. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on or indeed what they were, as they were quite simply amorphous blobs covered; it appeared, with a thick layer of rough, black fur. For a moment I considered turning one of my guardian orbs loose on them, but then I decided that, while they were certainly a little _odd_, they hadn't actually done anything to me beyond tickling my ankles.

"What _are_ these things?" I frowned at Locke, who had in the interim produced one of his many vicious looking knives, "Hey, don't hurt them!"

"I suppose yer itchin' to be digested then, mate?" Locke gave me an odd look, "Give 'em a few moments and yer feet'll be bathed in enough stomach acid to strip 'em to the bone."

"Really?" I gave them another look, "You certain about that?"

"Totally," Locke replied, "I've tangled with these beasties before. Best to get 'em off 'fast as possible."

"Well, if you're sure..." I concentrated for a moment, and then three of the globes circling my head leapt into action with a vicious crackle and plunged into the main bodies of the three strange creatures. Acting on foreknowledge, I closed my eyes just as the animals exploded messily, coating both Locke and me in quite unfeasibly large amounts of gore.

"...ick," I said eventually, mopping at my face with an unpleasantly damp hand, "That was _disgusting_."

"It certainly was," Locke said in acid tones, "Thanks fer the warnin', pal."

"I mean, I'm a Sentinel; I should _know_ disgusting, but that...blech!" my eyes shot open, "You didn't get any acid on you, did you? I didn't think they'd explode like that, but if-"

"I'm fine," Locke had somehow managed to avoid the worst of it, although his white cotton shirt was almost certainly beyond saving, "I suggest yer'd better wash off in that stream 'fore we go any further, though. I'd rather not take you to the castle in yer current state."

"The castle?" desperately trying not to inhale, I padded over to the rushing stream and lay down in it as best I could. The water was shockingly cold, but at least it got the majority of the viscera off my almost totally wrecked clothing, "We're going to a castle? Why?"

"Not a castle; _the_ castle," Locke extended a hand and, with a bit of effort, I was hauled out of the stream, "The King's Castle."

"Why?" I repeated, somewhat dumbly, "What's there?"

"Well, the King, fer on- wait," Locke stopped suddenly, and looked around him, "Firma, yer hear that?"

To be honest, my ears were still so filled with water it was a wonder that I could've heard Locke, never mind whatever it was he wanted me to listen to. Still, obligingly, I cocked my head and knocked the water out before concentrating as hard as I could. There was the rushing water, certainly, and the raw-toothed buzzing noise of my single remaining fightin' orb, but aside from that...

It occurred to me, suddenly, that that buzzing noise was certainly _not_ the work of my magical weaponry, and I gave Locke a horrified look as I realised that that left exactly one option.

"Oh, sod," I said, "Sounds like your mutant killer bees are on the warpath."

"I think yer'd better get some more of those crackly things up an' runnin', Firma," Locke said urgently, "From the sounds of it, yer'll be needin' to explode a lot of critters."

"Wonderful," I muttered, but nonetheless called a brace of snapping, snarling orbs into existence, "Any other advice?"

"Aye; don't get stung," Locke said warningly, "It's not like a normal bee sting. Get stung by _these_ fellers and yer'll be down fer the count."

"I could magically manufacture an antidote," I replied, and send my cheerful little light balls to watch the exit, "'Course, I'd have to be stung first so...let's just avoid that, shall we?"

"Wait, Firma," Locke put out a warning hand, "Let's make sure that they're not coming from that way before we charge out blindly, aye? Jus' two seconds..."

"I seriously think you're being overconfident here," I replied tensely, "I've only got a limited amount of magical power, y'know. I can't wipe out an entire hive."

"I'm not expectin' yer to," Locke's gaze suddenly snapped over to the hole carved by the small stream, "Get ready to run, Firma; here they come!"

Barely had that cry been uttered than the new threat came boiling out of that dark hole, and the air was suddenly filled with the deafening hum of the massive insects' wings all beating in unison. In the strange illumination offered by the crystals, all I could make out were massive black silhouettes, their chitinous armour gleaming indistinctly in the blue light. Naturally, each hornet had a wicked stiletto like stinger, and my eyes were drawn almost inexorably to the glinting, needle-like points. For the moment, strangely, they appeared to be more interested in the rather exploded remains of the creatures that had attacked me earlier, and as I watched they clustered around the gory chunks of flesh and began to feed.

"C'mon, Firma!" Locke grabbed my hand and dragged me into the tunnel. That sudden movement seemed to get the attention of the hornets, and there was a distinct change in the pitch of the hum as they changed their focus from the dead critters to us. With a yell, I threw my swarm of electric death towards the hornets before turning to follow the rapidly-retreating thief.

"Stupid stupid stupid!" Locke was yelling as we charged up the sloping corridor, "Of course! They'll be attracted to the noise! We got their attention when yer killed those Blearies!"

"Really?" I looked over my shoulder, and saw three of the hornets zip into view behind us. One of them was displaying scorch marks across its thorax, but seemed to be more annoyed than actually hurt. Quickly, I concentrated my magical powers into my hand and was rewarded with a vortex of twisting wind maybe six inches above my palm. When I judged that it was powerful enough, I threw it to the ground behind me and pelted after the thief. A moment later, there was a colossal 'bang!' that made the ceiling shake ominously, and the rather final snapping sound of chitin being crushed against solid rock.

"Can't yer be a bit more subtle, Firma?" Locke shouted, "That noise is just going to attract more o' them!"

"I deal in lightning and concussive blasts, Locke!" I snapped, "Take your pick! 'Sides, if they're anything like other hornets then killing these guys is going to make the rest of 'em really, _really_ mad."

"All the more reason to keep on runnin', then!"

We charged pell-mell down the corridor with the hornets in hot pursuit, our way barely lit by the waning light of my little suns. Behind us, in the dark, came the angry buzzing of a dozen giant hornets out for revenge and probably dinner, too, and I had the sneaking suspicion that my magical reserves weren't going to be able to off the remainder in such a direct manner. Worriedly, I looked at the ceiling as a plan began to form.

"Locke!"I panted, "How stable is this cave?"

"What'd'ya mean?" Locke gave me a quizzical look, and looked up himself, "Are yer thinkin' of collapsin' this tunnel? Firma, that's crazy!"

"So crazy it might just work!" I declared, and felt a little stupid for doing so.

"Not in this reality, pal," Locke replied sharply, "Yer bring that down an' it'll come down on all 'o us. I don't know about you, but I'd prefer to- sod, look _out_!"

Without warning, one of the huge insects zipped out of a small side crevice apparently dead-set on avenging its fallen comrades. As it charged towards me one of my little light balls leapt bravely to my defence, but 

vanished with a vicious sounding crack as it impacted on the thick, shining armour. There was a slight change in tone as the stunned insect plunged towards the floor, which gave Locke just enough time to dash forward and plunge his knife into its thorax. There was a brief blur of arms, wings, and stingers, and then the giant hornet was twitching weakly on the floor – with Locke rolling away, cursing weakly as he did so.

"Damn it!" he slurred, "Darn it durn it duurrr..."

"Locke? Locke!" I leapt over the dying creature to reach my friend, "What's happened? Are you stung?"

"Uuurr," Locke replied dully, but I could already see the tip of the stinger where it had broken off in his leg, "Ssttupid..."

"Hey, you got the bug," I said, quickly calling up all my knowledge on magical antidotes, "It would've gotten me otherwise, so, uh...thanks."

"'Sssn't problem," his head lolled in a way that was decidedly unhealthy, "Poisonssss...not fatal to humanssss..."

"Unless you're allergic to apitoxins, I guess," I gave him a wry, reassuring smile, and shifted my grip in preparation to haul him upright, "If it's not toxic, I'll deal with it when we're out of here. Hold on, Locke!"

With a certain amount of effort, I redirected energy away from the surviving ball of light and charged it into my leg muscles, momentarily augmenting them to the point where I could easily carry the heavier man across my shoulders. It probably wasn't going to hold together for very long, but I was now banking on the buggers giving up the chase before I collapsed from over-exertion.

As if on cue, another four of the bastards came swooping into view, and with a cry of 'here we go!' I practically launched Locke onto my back before setting off down the corridor with as much speed as my magically-enhanced legs would allow. Either side of us rock formations whipped by in a blur, and I prayed that we weren't about to be taken out by some bloody hidden stalactite – although, of course, the way my day was going that seemed like it was practically a certainty at this stage.

The buzz from behind me hadn't quietened down; if anything, it was getting slightly louder, but I dared not look behind me lest I ran smack-bang into a wall and put us out of the race. Instead, I gritted my teeth and pushed myself as far as I could, promising my legs that they would have plenty of time to ache and complain when they weren't about to be stung and et by maddened killer mutant wasps.

"How're you doing, Locke?" I inquired, hoping to take my mind off the growing burn in my thighs. My efforts were rewarded with a snore that could cut metal. Well, if that wasn't fan-bloody-tastic, then I didn't know what wa-

At that moment, my legs, which were already a source of quite exquisite pain, abruptly decided that they had had enough and froze completely, pitching Locke and I forward into a small pool of quite shockingly cold water. My world suddenly became filled with froth and bubbles, and then exploded with pain as my head cannoned into the bottom of the pool. Woozily, I staggered to shaking feet in the waist-deep depression and hauled Locke's unconscious form out onto the side just as our pursuers swarmed into view. Desperately, I called on any remaining power, but nothing came. With no options remaining, I grabbed Locke's body and shielded it with my own hoping that, just possibly, I had some hitherto unknown resistance to foot-long poison-tipped stingers.

Several moments passed, and it occurred to me, in a rather foggy way, that I hadn't been fricasseed. Curiously, I propped Locke up against the side of the pool and turned to stare at my assailants who were, for some 

strange reason, hovering a short distance away in almost perfect formation. Then, as one, they all turned away and plunged back into the tunnel from whence they came.

For a long, long time I stared dully at the spot where they had been. Maybe it was the headache speaking, but as far as I was concerned absolutely nothing about the actions of those damn bees made any sense. _Who_, exactly, would turn up just to chase a pair of hapless travellers into a pool in the middle of a cave in the arse end of the underside of a mountain, and then just decide to leave without actually enjoying the benefits of making me damn near crack my head open? Sure, I was happy with this particular turn of events, but in my experience the only reason karma visited reprieves like this upon me was because it was planning to do something even worse in my near future.

Almost immediately on the heels of that dark thought came an equally dark, unnerving rustling noise from the roof. Dreading what I would find, I slowly cast my gaze upwards and found that, where I had expected to find a rugged ceiling replete with geological features, there was instead a rather large array of what seemed to me to be some kind of shag-pile carpeting. For a moment I stared at the black, furry mass before giving vent to a long, tired sigh.

"Great," I muttered, "So, how're you going to make _this_ one worse for me, then?"

There was a ripple in the surface of the furry mass, and then the hairs parted to show an enormous, bloodshot eye that flicked momentarily around the cavern before coming to rest upon Locke's unconscious form. A strange, almost excited squeak echoed around the cavern, and suddenly I found Locke and me the subject of almost a dozen other eyes, all apparently part of the same mass. A moment later, the furry eyeball things simply started to drop away from the ceiling, landing on the floor around our pool with a series of rather gelatinous 'splats'. Slowly, wearily, I looked around me at the slowly contracting circle of quivering, excited eyeball blobs, oozing over the smooth stones with the terrible certainty of a group of creatures who knew a meal was near.

"Oh."


	15. Chapter 14: Brownout

**Chapter 14 – Brownout**

Hmm; it's been a while since I last had the...pleasure of sitting down and attending to this, but unfortunately now that we're through with the hurricanes, exams, and the last batch of godsdamned students I can't really find much else to occupy my time. I suppose I could _technically_ go and ask my fiancée about her day, but the normal response to that is a blow-by-blow account of her latest painting spree – which (as we all know) interests me about as much as the All-Comers Figaran Grass Growing Contest. No, seriously; I _enjoy_ the end products, but _I_ couldn't give a toss about the composition of the paints used in their creation. Conversely, I'm sure she doesn't _really_ care about all the bloody forms that we have to fill out before we can get to work on a patient – just that they survive is generally good enough for her.

Speaking of medical matters, I'd like to take a moment to complain about the new crop of bloody _vegetables_ I've been receiving as students from the Figaran Intelligence Service. As the Sentinel attaché it's my job to instruct these fine fellows how to treat the various injuries they'll no doubt receive during their vicious treatment at the hands of a cackling super villain, and _seriously_, after two weeks of intensive training you'd think they'd be able to suture a bloody wound! I'll admit, I've never been privy to the interview process over at FIS, but if these jokers are any gauge of the selection process I'm pretty sure it consists of a join-the-dots puzzle with successful applicants going on to select their shapely co-worker of choice and what ludicrously destructive weapons system they want fitted to their overpowered supercars. I know that we need to take what we can get, but I wasn't aware that the Kingdom of Figaro was _this _bloody desperate. Yeesh.

Incidentally, I'd like to warn my latest batch; the last graduate of mine who buzzed my bicycle in one of those damn cars ended up going over a cliff barely two days later. I'm being totally honest when I say that I had nothing to do with _that_ particular event, but it goes to show that you shouldn't pester me; my karma isn't just bad, it's downright _homicidal_.

Glad I got that off my chest – now where were we? Oh, right.

Life, I decided, just wasn't fair. In fact, when I actually got down and dirty about it, there was very little about the events of the past four days that _had_ been fair, particularly to me. While I had to grudgingly admit that I was still alive and making waves, that fact seemed slightly less fortunate when the waves I was making were in a small pool completely surrounded by a rapidly contracting circle of gelatinous carnivores that I assumed, given half a chance, would slowly and painfully put paid to my 'alive' status.

Still, I reflected brightly, there _was_ still a small pool of water between me and my furry, monocular assailants, and unless the little buggers could swim then there was going be a small waiting game while I rebuilt my magical energies followed by an eighty percent chance of thunderstorms. Very well aimed thunderstorms, I added darkly. In fact, when I got out of this damn pool there was goin-

My warming, happy thoughts of out-and-out genocide were tragically interrupted as one of the blasted quivering blobs of acidic jelly peered carefully at the rippling surface of the water with its bloodshot eye. There was a moment of apparent indecision as it seemed to weigh up the benefits of eating me against getting wet, and then, without further ado, settled onto the surface of the water and began to gently waft in my direction.

"No!" I yelled, as its mates began to follow suit, "No no no no no! What the _hell_ do you think you're doing? You're a bloody amorphous blob! Amorphous blobs don't _get_ swimming certificates!"

Suddenly faced once with the imminent threat of becoming blob chow, I drew on the very last vestiges of power that I could use safely with the intention of percussively removing the critters from my freezing pool. Unfortunately, what emerged was a rather underwhelming 'pfft', which was met with a series of unblinking stares from the floating, bleary eyes. There was almost a collective group shrug, and the blobs continued their gentle bobbing towards their supper.

"Look, you goddamn...whatever you bloody well are!" I snapped, "Just because I'm not all here in the magic department doesn't mean that I'm suddenly on the menu! And he isn't either!" I quickly hauled Locke out of the way of a questing pseudopod, "Oh, sodding _hell_...hey, gerroff me!"

While I had been occupied with the damnable things approaching from the front, I had managed to totally overlook the fact that I was being both flanked and attacked from the rear by their little blobby buddies. In keeping Locke safe I had placed my elbow within range of another floating eyeball, and my skin suddenly crawled as I felt the strangely slick but furry substance wrap around and begin to envelop my arm. I flailed uselessly with that arm, but the damn thing was sticking to me like glue. A moment later, though, the horrible sensation was replaced by an even more horrible _burning_ sensation, and with a sudden lurch I realised that the bastard thing was now cheerfully engaged in digesting my appendage.

There was nothing else for it at that point. If I stayed here then the blobs were going to consume every bit of me from the waist up, and there was no way I could electrify them without simultaneously frying Locke. With that in mind, I grit my teeth against the pain, set my eyes on the nearest, least blob infested shore, and surged forwards with sudden cry of exertion.

The air around me was suddenly filled with a series of strange, concerned trills as the carnivorous furballs struggled to stay afloat on the turbid surface, and I found myself awash in a world of frothy waves and furry pseudopodia. A large, unpleasant eyeball bobbed past barely a foot away, and I saw one of its horrible extrusions reach out desperately for Locke's outstretched arm. With a sudden jerk I hauled the unconscious man away from the hairy blob but felt, with a certain amount of resignation, a slimy, tickling sensation on my back as one of its comrades glued itself to me. Like the one on my arm, the feeling was quickly replaced by a searing pain as the creature started eating its way into my flesh. Half-blind through pain, concussion, and good old-fashioned exhaustion, I staggered to the side of the pool and, with a last surge of strength, hoisted Locke up and out onto the side. Somehow, through some miracle, none of the hungry buggers sharing my pool had seen fit to attach themselves to him. Hopefully, he'd be okay.

On the other hand, I was now faced with a situation wherein I was the sole target of a dozen hungry hungry blobs. To make matters worse, my magical reserves were pretty much extinguished which, in turn, meant that the only energy I could bring to bear to electrolyse these freaks was currently being used to keep me breathing, walking, and talking. If I didn't want to die, I was going to have to be very, very careful about what I drew upon.

With a deep, nervous breath I focused my concentration inwards and slowly began to draw a trickle of magic from that infusing my critical systems, and there was sharp crackle as a blue-gold bolt leapt between my hands. The blobs nearby, and those attached to me, appeared to pause for a moment before an anxious trill filled the air. The trill intensified as another spark joined the first, and quite suddenly I felt the two blobs eating away at me detach and drift desperately for the comparative safety of their fellows.

"Trying to get away, are you?" I snarled angrily, "Oh no you bloody well _don't_."

I gritted my teeth and dug deeper into my vital supplies, and felt a terrible tiring cold steal over me as I did so. The world around me became bleached and devoid of colour, and the vicious crack and snarl of the torrent of bolts faded to a mere tinny whine. I was at the very limit of my endurance, and the light began to course down my arms I knew it was time do or die. Quite probably, I thought grimly, it was do _and_ die, but I forced that deep down as I spread my arms and released my magic with a barely-audible battle-cry.

The results were, to put it mildly, spectacular. A moment passed while the snapping light nestled in my palms seemed to bunch itself, but then with a _crack_ that shook rocks from the ceiling it leapt into the water and surged, crackling and humming, towards the fleeing creatures. A desperate trill turned into a shriek, perceptible even to my ears, as the water glowed an eerie blue-gold around the closest critter. A moment later, there was another brutal _crack_ and the furry, monocular beast quite simply exploded, showering its fellows and myself in unpleasant smelling viscera.

From there, it only got worse. Blob after blob exploded loudly as the surge of death swept across the pool, systematically surrounding and detonating one foe after another. One of my assailants, displaying a surprising amount of lucidity for a fuzzy amoeba, fled up a bank out of the lethal waters only to be annihilated a second later as my vengeful magic coursed up the damp trail left in its wake and reduced the poor animal to glowing ash.

Finally, it was over, and I found myself alone in a pool filled with nothing but large chunks of exploded blob and a truly godsawful smell. For some reason, though, I felt kind of good about it. Those little _bastards_ had tried to kill Locke and me, and look where it had got _them_, eh? _I_ was still alive, while from the looks of it the only future _they_ could have was as a godsdamned warning to others! Hell, sod feeling good, I was downright _elated_.

"Yeah! Sod you!" I cried, and thrust my fist into the air, "Did you _enjoy_ your causality, motherf-"

Unfortunately, my rather shaky state of being chose that exact moment to collapse, and I felt my legs buckle underneath me as a combination of my many injuries and a lack of vital magic finally took their toll. Fighting to remain upright and conscious, I managed to half-stagger, half-collapse against the side of the pool. I attempted, one last desperate time, to claw my way out of the water but there was quite simply no strength left in my body. Slowly, numbly, I released my grip and felt the chill, dark pool reach up to claim me as my vision went black...

Right; I'm going to take thirty seconds to explain something, and you are going to listen. You don't have to, but you are _going_ to because I know that you're at least slightly curious. I mentioned earlier something known as 'vital magic' or somesuch (to be honest I can't be bothered to check, 'cause I've had a rough day and I'm feeling lazy) but I didn't exactly go into detail about what it was at the time because I was, well, being eaten alive.

I'm going to make this point so that you can appreciate exactly _how_ different Mage Knights are from normal people. Normal people generally need a certain amount of oxygen to keep their dilapidated organs and hilariously poor spatial awareness systems functioning, right? Well, Mage Knights run off a dual-system; we need oxygen, yes, but we need it less than you scrubs – and we make up for the deficit by subsisting at least partially on magic. Obviously, there are advantages to this (I can, for instance, hold my breath underwater for ten minutes!) but occasionally, just occasionally; it becomes a real annoyance. People with a biological bent will be aware of the term 'burn out' used to refer to a situation where a nerve cell has exhausted itself. We use the same term to refer to an exhausted magic user, but in this context it's far more serious; acetylcholine doesn't turn up elsewhere in your body with a hammer and a manic glint in its eye. Magic _does_, and if you ignore the warning signs and just keep on pushing yourself then your muscles will give out, your heart will fail, and you _will_ die.

That's all I'm going to say on that matter. As I say, I've had a rough day and I'm not exactly inclined to give any handouts. If you're curious, do your own damn research.

The first thing I felt upon awakening was cool, clean sheets, and although my brain was still clouded by exhaustion it _did_ occur to me that nice bed linens were not typically available at the bottom of a blob-filled cave system. Furthermore, the air around me seemed somehow _fresher_ than it had at the bottom of that damnable pit, and if I strained my hearing I was pretty sure that I could hear the distant, peaceful sound of wind rustling gently through the trees.

Hmph. Well, wherever I was, I wasn't going to make any progress by lying here with my eyes shut. Slowly I hauled myself into a sitting position, hissing in pain as my elbow gave a protesting twinge. Gritting my teeth, I shook off the momentary jolt and gave the room a quick once over.

My first impression was pretty much 'hostel', or at the very least a reasonably cheap hotel. The room itself was large, light, and airy, but there was very little filling the space beyond the small cot I was laying on, a desk, and a bedside table. The walls and ceiling appeared to have been whitewashed, and although the floor appeared to be newly laid hardwood slats the door was an old, knotted affair that had clearly been designed with raw strength in mind. The room itself was illuminated by a large window that took up a fairly sizeable amount of the opposite wall, through which I could see clouds scudding gently across an azure sky. My mood lifted by the pleasant weather, I slowly disentangled myself from the bed linens and came carefully to my feet.

It was immediately apparent that someone had changed me yet again in my sleep, as I was now wearing a large, baggy pair of pure white trousers. My midriff, while unclothed, was swathed in light but tightly fitting medical gauze, and a quick inspection of my elbow revealed that it had received the same treatment. That, to me, suggested that someone other than Locke had been responsible for treating my injuries; as unless he had been hiding several kilometres of bandaging about his person it seemed unlikely that he was equipped to handle this job. A quick, experimental prod of my head revealed that it, too, had been wrapped up tightly although admittedly for reasons that eluded me. Maybe I'd started to bleed profusely once I'd run out of magic – who knew? A sudden glint from the desk piqued my interest, and so –leaving my injuries be for a moment- I wondered over casually to take a look.

The source of my attention turned out to be a small silver figurine of an elaborately robed woman. In her left hand she held a shield, and in her right was a long, thin rod that reached the full length of her body. A small circlet rested upon her forehead, and although it was impossible to tell from the little statue I knew already that, had she been alive, it would have been made of silver. Carefully, I set the statuette back down and stepped away, respectfully touching my forehead as I did so.

It was Callista, the ancient healer and figurehead of the Silver Sentinels,, and her presence here meant that this absolutely _had_ to be a Sentinel Aid Station of some description. Of course, that also meant that the desk drawers would contain a copy of the order's codex, squirreled away in there for the particularly pious or, for that matter, the terminally bored. I was safe, for now, but I still had several questions that needed answering; was Locke okay? How long was I out? Where, for that matter, _was_ I? Curiously, I stepped over to the window and looked outside.

The view was breathtaking, if slightly too high for my liking. From my window, I could see that this building was on an outcropping above a vast, leafy forest, beyond which rolling green hills stretched away into the distance. Here and there trees had been removed to create enormous clearings, in which I could see distant figures standing in ordered rows or running laps around the edge. Occasionally, I could hear someone shouting, and once or twice there was a loud report that sounded uncomfortably like the discharge of a high-powered rifle.

Eager to see more of the building, I looked straight down – and immediately wished I hadn't. The window itself was built flush within a brilliant white wall at least fifty metres high. At its base, it quite simply gave way to a sheer cliff face, at the base of which I could see the unmistakable markings of a firing range – clearly, that had been where the rifle sounds had been coming from.

There was a light tap at the door, and I turned warily as it creaked open slowly to reveal a woman dressed in the silvery uniform of the 'Sentinels. Like the figurine of Callista, she had a circlet resting lightly on her forehead, and across her shoulder was slung a small, rather unremarkable satchel.

"Ah, trainee Sentinel; I see that you're awake," she said, in a brisk, no-nonsense manner. Surprisingly, she had a vaguely Vectoran accent, "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm okay, ma'am."

"Very well; hold still," she said, and produced an ophthalmoscope from a compartment on the top of the satchel. With a casual flick she switched it on and began a cursory inspection of my eyes.

"Uh, ma'am," I ventured, after a short period of awkward silence, "If you don't mind me asking, _where_, exactly, am-"

"Say 'aah'," the Sentinel replied, as she produced a thermometer from yet another small section of her bag of tricks.

"Aah," I complied, and held the thermometer in my mouth while she took a reading.

"This is Sacae Castle; the headquarters of the Order in Figaro," the Sentinel held up a hand to forestall any further comments, "I do not know the exact circumstances that led to you being brought here, and to be frank it is none of my concern. Now, I have familiarised myself with what limited information we have on your somewhat..._unique_ abilities, and if I am to believe the reports then it is very likely that your convalescence is either complete or very nearly so. Is that the case?"

"Um..." I gave my elbow an experimental flex, and felt the gauze tighten and release against new, unmarked skin, "It feels like it, ma'am."

"Excellent," the woman paused for a moment, "I must say, it is a _great_ pity that the Empire did not spend more time investigating your regenerative abilities. I know a number of my colleagues here would be very interested to learn more regarding them – but we have no time for that. The Father Superior would like to see you as soon as possible, so if you are uninjured and ready then I will leave you to dress," someone on the other side of the door handed the Sentinel a small, folded pile of clothes which she placed on the floor, and they were joined a moment later by two heavy-duty, half-calf walking boots, "The Father Superior gave me instructions to present you to him when you had recovered, so _do_ try to look smart. I shall return in a few minutes."

By the time she returned I had at least managed to achieve a state of being reasonably presentable. It was going to take more than just a change of clothes to get the detritus of the last few days out of my skin, but at least I was now fully dressed in a recently cleaned and pressed Sentinel uniform similar to that worn by my current guardian. As a trainee, though, I hadn't been issued with one of the circlets that all full Sentinels received; to be honest, I wasn't _entirely_ sure I wanted one – those things looked bloody heavy.

The woman inspected me critically, "Well, you're hardly the King of Figaro, but it'll have to do – oh, leave the head bandages," she said, as I went to unwrap the gauze, "How else are we to protect your identity?"

"One of my friends suggested the same thing, ma'am," I said, "'On the other hand, she tried to use a horrible yellow hat that probably got me in more trouble than-"

"Yes, yes. We mustn't keep the Father Superior waiting," with this, the Sentinel turned and walked briskly down the corridor, beckoning me to follow. Not wanting to aggravate this potentially prickly character I scurried out after her, quickly passing two rather heavy-set Sentinels in the process.

The corridor outside the room was about as unremarkable as the room itself – which is to say that it was a long, white-washed affair, featureless save for the heavy-set oak doors set in recesses at regular intervals. We walked quickly down the corridor until, suddenly, my chaperone made a hard right and led me down a set of tight, rather unsafe-looking spiral stairs.

"I take it you didn't want any unwelcome visitors," I said, stepping gingerly from slick stone to slick stone.

"The Father Superior chose to suppress all information regarding your identity upon your arrival," the Sentinel replied, "It seemed to be prudent to post guards to stop any of the...more curious students finding out who was in there. Rumours spread like wildfire in a place like this."

"It was the same back home, ma'am," I said ruefully. Happily, I found that we had reached the bottom of the stairwell and, indeed, reached part of the castle that seemed to be more heavily travelled. The stone underfoot vanished, replaced with a thick, albeit faded, purple carpet, and the whitewashed walls had been similarly replaced with expensive-looking wallpaper. Portraits of men and women, all wearing the silvery garb of the Sentinels, stared down at us from the walls. After a moment of internal dialogue, I decided that they were probably previous Mother and Father Superiors of Castle Sacae.

"The Kingdom of Figaro gifted Castle Sacae to the Sentinels approximately four hundred years ago," my guardian said, apparently mistaking my curiosity as an unspoken request, "We try to maintain the standards that it was given to us in, but quite frankly funding is tight and...there are more pressing needs than reupholstering the furniture. This way, please."

We were starting to run into other Sentinels now in their ones and twos. They nodded companionably at my Sentinel as we went past, but their gazes became distinctly questioning as they played over my features and critically my heavily bandaged head.

"As I said, rumours spread quickly," the Sentinel turned to give one of the passing women a faintly puzzled look, "Nobody knows who you are, but everyone is curious about the 'injured men' brought in under heavy guard. It was the best we could do."

"Speaking of 'men', what happened to Locke? Is he ok-"

"Your friend is fine," she waved the question aside dismissively, "The only real risk from the hornets in that cave is anaphylaxis, and your friend does not appear to be allergic. Nonetheless, we are keeping an eye on him in case complications develop, but I believe he shall be joining you when you meet the Father Superior."

I released a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, "That's a relief, at least."

"Indeed it is," she replied, somewhat apathetically in my mind, "In any case, we are here."

We had stopped in front of another large, heavy door, utterly indistinguishable from the rest. The only indication that the room beyond may have belonged to someone important was a simple steel placard, upon which small black letters read '_Sen. H. Aston – Father Superior'_.

"This is it?" I inquired, slightly surprised at the parsimony of it all. The Sentinel nodded, knocked once, and pushed the old, creaky door open in a single smooth motion. Shrugging, I trailed along in after her and found myself in a small, well-furnished room that could only be an antechamber. A rather bored-looking woman looked up from behind a desk as we entered.

"Miss Gedery?" the Sentinel said, "I'm bringing our guest as per the Father Superior's orders."

Miss Gedery nodded and languidly pressed a glowing red button on her desk, "Father Superior? I have Sentinel Asaline and a guest here for you."

The intercom popped and crackled, and then a quiet 'Send them in' emanated from somewhere on the desk.

"Very good, sir," the PA indicated the far door and Sentinel Asaline walked briskly across towards it, beckoning me to follow. As I did so, the PA caught my eye and shook her head wryly, indicating Asaline with a subtle jerk of her neck. I smirked and nodded in response.

The room beyond the antechamber was, I decided, pretty similar to the office of my own Father Superior's; having been in there once for an old-fashioned dressing-down. There was, for instance, the obligatory portrait of Callista on the wall directly behind the Father's desk, and the desk itself was piled high with more paperwork than I had ever wanted to see in my life. The furnishings were slightly grander than the rather military affair that my Father's office was filled with; there was carpeting underfoot, for instance, and there were two high-backed armchairs in front of the desk instead of the two simple, rather uncomfortable office-style... _things_ back in Wareydon.

The Father himself, however, could have been a dead ringer. For some reason, the job seemed to attract balding men in their sixties - and this guy was no different. He had a short, well-trimmed beard and a heavily careworn face that pretty much had 'grandfather' stamped clean across it. As we entered, he looked up and smiled brightly, revealing two rows of pearly whites that positively _gleamed_ in the dim light.

"Ah, Ursula," he said, in a rich, broad accent that I couldn't identify, "Thank you for bringing our new trainee."

"It was my pleasure, Father Superior," Asaline said, inclining her head slightly, "Might I be excused? I have-"

"Of course, of course," he said, waving her away, "Could you ask Miss Gedery to find Mr. Cole? We'll need him as well."

"Of course, Father," Asaline nodded and left, shutting the door with a slight 'click'. There was a long, awkward silence, punctuated only by the subtle rustling of paper as the Father Superior leafed through the stack of files on his desk. Eventually he located a brown file that looked no different from the rest, but it seemed to satisfy him regardless.

"I'm sorry, Trainee Branford – where are my manners?" he shook his head and indicated one of the high-backed chairs, "Please; have a seat. No doubt you're tired from all your exertions."

"I believe I've managed to catch up on my sleep, sir," I said, immediately slipping into my 'talking to superior officers' tone, "Thank you for your concern, though."

"Ah, yes, indeed," the Father Superior appeared momentarily flustered by my comment, "In any case, I am Father Superior Hoao Aston."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," I replied curtly, sitting bolt upright in my chair.

"You may as well relax, Firmament," the man smiled his toothy smile again; "I'm hardly one to stand on ceremony, especially considering a..._situation_ as delicate as this one."

"Indeed, sir?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yes," he nodded, "Now, I daresay that we don't have _all_ the information, but I think we've done a reasonable job of piecing together what information we've received from the police and our friends in Figaro Intelligence. Please-" he withdrew a piece of paper from his file and handed it to me,"-give this a quick read and tell me if there's anything significant missing."

I glanced over the document. It appeared to contain a brief, but surprisingly accurate, summary of the past week or so of my life, "I think that just about covers everything, sir."

"Fantastic," the Father Superior replaced it in his file and leaned in, "Now, Firmament-"

"Firma, sir," I said quickly.

"Now, Firma," there was that toothy smile again, "I have to ask you this question; what can the Silver Sentinels do for _you_?"

"Excuse me, sir?" I frowned, "I, uh...I don't understand. I thought the Silver Sentinels weren't allowed to interven-"

"Hold on, Trainee," Aston cut in, "You're not wrong; the Sentinels can't intervene in the event that one of its members breaks the law, but as I understand it you have been illegally imprisoned and assaulted multiple times by agents that can be traced directly back to Imperial Intelligence. Furthermore, a number of Sentinels were killed in _another_ illegal action by armour owned by the Empire. You are, in short, just one of many victims of a series of terrorist attacks."

"But-"

"We also have a certain..._political_ interest in assisting you," he continued, "We are well aware of your sister's plight, and we have some information regarding her eventual destination-"

"-Narshe-"

"-which clearly you already know," the Father Superior frowned, "Although quite _how_ you know that is beyond me. The Silver Sentinels are currently of the view that the current government in the Empire is preparing for war, and it may help ease tensions if both Mage Knights were no longer under their control."

"I...see," I shrugged. Having no real knowledge of international relations I wasn't really able to comment, but his statement at least _seemed_ to make sense, "Well, in that case I really, _really_ need to get to Narshe – like, yesterday. If you have anything that can bring down a Titan, I'd be quite happy to cart it away for you as well."

I stared at his teeth as they flashed again. Did this manwhiten or something?

"That's what we were hoping you would say," Aston nodded, "We have arranged transport for you, along with a pilot from the Order of the Flame. Given the distance you will have to stop to refuel at Castle Figaro, but I have no doubt that King Edgar would be interested in making your acquaintance."

I had a strong feeling that what he _actually_ meant was 'you are stopping at Castle Figaro come hell or high water', but I decided to keep my mouth shut for the time being. If I could, I was damn well going to ride this wave of charity all the way to Narshe.

Aston's desk beeped harshly, and snapped me out of my reverie. Curiously, I watched the Father Superior pick up a handset and listen to the voice at the other end. After a moment he said 'send him in' and replaced the handset with a quiet 'click'.

"That would be Mr. Cole, Firma," he said, as the door swung open noisily behind us. Aston looked up and nodded amiably at the new arrival, "Ah; Locke. It's been a while."

"Same to you, Aston," Locke replied, in his distinctive Kohlinglese twang. I quickly twisted my neck around to get a look, and was relieved to see that he appeared unharmed. It appeared that he had managed to wash and obtain a change of clothes from somewhere in the interim, and in his hand he held a large, heavy-looking attaché case, "I hafta admit that I were surprised when they said that yer were in charge of this sorry lot. How times change, eh?"

Surprised by this familiarity, I looked quickly between Aston and Locke as the latter settled himself into the other chair, "Wait – you know one another?"

"Good to see yer up and about, lad!" Locke said, heartily sidestepping the question, "I hear from yer associates here that yer apparently saved both our skins."

"I guess that makes us equal, then," I raised my eyebrows, "Now – you know one another?"

"Oh, aye," for some reason, Locke seemed to be a little evasive, "Aston here were the one who treated my, uh..."

"Your what?" I pressed, "Your legs? Your arms? More... delicate regions? Embarrassing diseases, perhaps? Am I on to something here?"

"My word, no," Aston sounded amused, "in any case, Firma; surely you're aware of patient confidentiality?"

"Hmph!"

"Anyway, Locke has agreed to accompany you to Narshe," Aston continued, "As someone who has been...around, a lot, he is likely to be useful in recovering your sister. Given your comparative inexperience with the world, I suspect you won't get far without running into Imperial Intelligence – and that encounter may prove fatal without Locke's experience."

"That's true, I suppose," I conceded, "Certainly that first bugger, anyway."

"On the matter of personal defence, I am also issuing you with this," the Father Superior looked significantly at Locke, who reached down beside him and picked up his attaché case. Carefully, he placed it on the desk and opened it towards me, revealing a rather nasty-looking semi-automatic pistol and a sizeable quantity of ammunition.

"Wait! Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!" I threw my hands up and scooted back as far as the chair would go, "Are you _arming_ me? Is that even allowed?"

"As I understand it, you _do_ have training with firearms-"

"-yes, but to recapture _wildlife_! It was a goddamn joke module – we only had to do it so's the Sentinels could get more funding from the Empire! I'm not about to use that on a living person! Besides, we're not allowed to bear live arms! We're _Sentinels – _it'd be a war crime!"

"I think you'll find that there are...sizeable differences between the rules governing Sentinels in the Empire and the rest of the world," Aston replied coldly, "You have the luxury of being backed up by one of the most powerful militaries on the planet – we may be called into action in small numbers and in remote parts of the world. If you want to survive up here, Firmament, you _will_ need the same protection, and it is possible that Locke will not always be present or that your magic will be insufficient."

"But I-" I looked at the matte-black gun again, and shuddered.

"I understand your reservations on this matter, Trainee," Aston's tone warmed ever so slightly, "I would be concerned if you did not have them – but you are in _real_ danger, and if necessary I will _order_ you to take this weapon."

"That might help, y'know," I sighed, but leaned forward and picked it up nonetheless.

"Has it been...uh, calibrated?" I looked at Locke, who nodded.

"'Guys at the armoury did it for me," he handed over a long strip of grey fabric, "Also got you a holster and something to hold the clips, too."

"Magazines," I corrected absently, "I know some people who get _really_ arsy about misusing that word. Sergeants, for a start. Anyway-" I looked quickly over at the Father Superior, "Isn't this going to draw a lot of unwanted attention?"

"No more than yer hat, yer hair, or that light-show of yours on the train," Locke said before the Father could answer, "I've seen armed Sentinels loads of time – believe me, people're used ter it."

"Fine...fine," I gathered up the bits and stuff them back into the case, "I just hope I remember my training."

"I have the fullest confidence in your abilities, Trainee Branford," Aston said reassuringly, "Hopefully, you'll never have to use it, but considering the situation it is best to be as safe as possible."

"He's right, Firma," Locke said, "Yer best off carrying it and not using it then ter need it and not have it."

"Okay, okay! I get it!" I snapped the attaché case closed and put it on the floor by my side, "Now, what's the new game plan? You-" I nodded irritably at the Father Superior, "-said something about a pilot and transport, so I'm guessing we're catching a helicopter from here to Castle Figaro, but-"

"As it stands, that _is_ essentially the plan," Aston, thankfully, ignored my flagrant breach of protocol, "You will be shipped from here to Castle Figaro, at which point you'll most likely meet King Edgar-"

"That's what I was plannin' on doing anyway, Firma," Locke pointed out, "He _definitely_ wants to meet you and, um," at this point his expression became a touch strained, "Your sister."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I gave him an inquisitive look, but he shook his head and directed me back to Aston.

"I'm sorry to say that we cannot provide any further materiel or personnel at this point in time, Firmament, but times are a little strained and we are preparing ourselves for a possible conflict," he said, before adding quickly, "May it be avoided."

"I understand," I said, "A helicopter would be invaluable as it is; you've done more than enough for me already."

"There's a little more," Aston appeared to set himself, "Our sources indicate that your sister is being controlled by a-"

"-Slave Crown," I nodded, "Capital 'S', capital 'C', I know."

"I suspect that you'll probably be able to guess at the likely emotional effects one might experience from such a device, too," he continued, "Even if you _are_ successful in rescuing your sister, she is likely to be traumatised from her ordeal."

"I...I know," I said eventually. I hadn't thought about that – in fact, I had trying _not_ to think about that, but he was right.

"We have a number of highly regarded psychiatrists here on retainer," he said carefully, "It may be best if she is brought back here for treatment upon her recovery. Considering her abilities, it would not be safe for, well, _anyone_ to be near her if she-"

"-has gone mad?" I said roughly, "I'll keep that under advisement, sir."

"I understand that this is no doubt very stressful for you, Trainee," Aston's fatherly tones managed to forestall my irritated remark, "I'm afraid it's not likely to get any easier, either."

"I know, sir," I took a long, deep breath.

"Good," he nodded, "Well, that's everything I have to say. Your pilot will be here shortly, so I suggest you both get over to the landing pad and prepare for his arrival."

"Yes, sir," I stood up, "Thank you for all your assistance."

"Take care," Aston said, before adding, "Oh, and trainee?"

"Mmm?" I turned to give the Father Superior one last look.

"We will be praying for your safety."


	16. Chapter 15: An Infusion of Intelligence

**Chapter 15 – An infusion of intelligence**

Once again I have the somewhat, uh, dubious pleasure of bringing down the fourth wall and addressing you, the unwashed masses, directly. What is today's topic? Why, it's nothing less than an explanation of the interactions between Sentinels and ordinary military folk of different ranks. Exciting, eh? I _thought_ so.

On the face of it, this doesn't seem like much of a problem – after all, militaries may differ slightly in their naming conventions, but in all honesty it's pretty easy to knock heads together and work out exactly who you should be saluting. The Sentinels have it easier still; you have Trainees, Sentinels, Senior Sentinels, Fathers, Father Superiors, and then Callista, who isn't being saluted much at the moment on account of the fact that she's, uh, dead. Or something, anyway – nobody seems to be all that clear on that matter.

The problem here arises when you try to integrate the two. When I was Private Branford it was easy for me to work out that I was meant to be saluting, well, _everyone_. The instant I jumped ship and became Trainee Sentinel Branford, though, things became that little bit more complicated. Sure, I was a novice, but as I wasn't technically part of the Imperial Army anymore did that mean I had to salute anyone? Did I have to salute my training instructors? Anceleti? _Celes?_

Well, technically speaking...no. As it turned out it was basically impossible to jam the two ranking systems together; most people never really progress past 'Sentinel' in the grand scheme of the Order of Callista; they just specialise in something and keep on getting more and more specialised as time goes on. Attempting to rank by speciality opened up a whole can of worms, too – for a start, the pathologists were immediately up in arms about the apparent superiority of the cardiologists. 'Why?' they would ask, 'Are these guys so much more important than us? Sure, your hearts are ticking over nicely, but my my my, isn't _that_ a nasty case of ebola you have there? What's that? You have haemorrhagic fever? Tsk tsk tsk – well, if only we had more funding we might be able to do something about that, but what would you know? Its _rank_ allocated these days!' Fortunately, everyone began to get the picture by the _third_ outbreak of cholera but by then the damn dermatologists had weighed in, on account of the fact that everyone would look pretty damn silly if they didn't have any skin...and so on and so forth. Quite simply, it was a spectacular failure.

This, guys, is the reason I don't tend to go around calling blatantly superior officers like General Chere or Major Anceleti 'sir'. It's not because I'm a massively insubordinate person (I'm not!) but rather because, legally speaking, nobody has any idea where we actually stand relative to one another.

Thankfully, I hear they're having another attempt to resolve this one and for all, so watch this space. Me 'n my fellow trainees are already getting our stripes ready...but for now, forwards!

"That bloody politically-minded teeth-whitening rat _bastard!_" I snarled quietly, as I stalked past Miss Gedery, "Can you believe his goddamn cheek? 'I shall be praying for your success'-"

"Safety," Locke, who looked rather puzzled, corrected me.

"Yeah, he said one and meant t'other, Locke," I growled, and proceeded to give a bad _falsetto_ impression of the Father, "Oh, great Trainee Branford, perhaps you'd like to bring your mentally scarred and badly traumatised sister back down here for a nice relaxing bout of _research_ – I mean treatment! We even have a spa!" I spat, "Godsdamnit – how _stupid_ does he think I am?"

"Well, yer're kickin' off in front of his PA," Locke pointed out, "'Sides, he's given us transpor' to Figaro _an'_ yer now have a means of defendin' yerself!"

"Yes, because I was _utterly_ defenceless beforehand," I gave him a flat look. Locke, for his part, had the good graces to look embarrassed, "The fact is, would he have given us all this nice stuff and...not so nice stuff if I wasn't 'Trainee Sentinel Firmament Branford, Mage Knight!'?"

"Probably not," Locke nodded, "But would yer be being chased by a bunch o' heavies an' be rushin' to Narshe if yer weren't?"

"I suppose that's a good point," I stopped, and flopped down on a handy chair, "I'm over-reacting, aren't I?"

"Jus' slightly."

"Sorry," I coughed, awkwardly, "I'm just...not a fan of people giving me favours just 'cause I can make pretty light shows."

"If I were you, I'd be thankful fer all the free help," Locke snorted, "Yer'll learn soon enough, I'm sure."

"No doubt."

We stayed there for a couple of moments in a rather awkward silence while a Sentinel wandered past. Apparently curious about the rather odd-matched pair, she looked between us for a moment before moving quickly on. I exchanged a shrug with Locke.

"Huh," I said finally, "It's her again."

"Oh, yer know 'er?" Locke's eyebrows went up.

"Yeah – well, no," I glanced at her retreating back, "I caught Sentinel Asaline giving her a rather strange look when she was taking me to see Aston."

"Maybe they don't get on," Locke smirked.

"'s possible, I suppose," I shook my head and clambered back to my feet, "Well, let's go meet our pilot for the day. Did...anyone tell you where the landing pad is? I forgot to ask Aston."

"I've been here before a time a' two, pal," Locke gestured down the hallway, "C'mon, it's this way."

With that, Locke proceeded to lead me on a lengthy walk through what felt about nine-tenths of the castle. Although, for the most part, it was twisty turny passages (all alike) we did occasionally come across some interesting features that people had apparently put quite a lot of time and effort into. There were a number of pretty little gardens set in quadrangles up and down the castle, ranging from a rather standard affair such as might be seen around Vector right up to some complicated array of stones and gravel that I had never seen before, although Locke swore blind that it was Domanian in origin. There were sculptures set in little sconces on the wall, and while most of them were unsurprisingly of Callista there were a couple of prominent philosophers, artists, and (perhaps unsurprisingly) at least one apparently well-known gardener. There were portraits, expensive looking rooms with equally expensive looking accoutrements, and more damn ornamental fountains than I could count. It was, in short, a rather delightful tour of an ancient and historic castle, and it would have been even _more_ delightful if we weren't utterly lost.

"Locke," I said finally, "I'm pretty sure I've seen that statue before. In fact, I'm _certain_ of it."

"Yer can't have done," Locke snorted, "C'mon, we're nearly there."

"You've been saying that for about three-quarters of an hour, now," I raised my eyebrows, "Look, this statue is _blatantly_ the same! Unless, that is," I pointed to the graffiti tucked away right behind the little figurine, "Someone saw fit to spray 'Wilan and Kayje forever!' behind every damn thing in this joint!"

"Maybe...maybe Wilan and Kayje are really, _really_...in love," Locke's tones strongly suggested that he didn't believe this himself, "Okay, fine – we're lost, pal. What d'yer want me to do about it?"

"Well, why don't we ask someone for directions?" I rolled my eyes, "There's only so many places that a damn heli- ooh, crikey!"

I swayed and would have fallen against the wall had Locke not steadied me in time. The world spun gently for a moment, and distantly I heard him shout my name, twice. Then, just as suddenly, the walls snapped back into focus.

"-rma! You okay, pal?" Locke, irritatingly, chose that moment to shout as loud as he could right down my earhole. Blearily, I staggered back and shook off his grip.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I frowned. For some reason, I suddenly felt incredibly uneasy.

"Are yer sure?" Locke's face was still etched with worry, "Maybe yer need more time to reco-"

"That's not it," I said, maybe a little too firmly, "Hang on; let me have a look around."

Locke looked slightly confused, "Why don't yer wait here and _I'll_ go tak-"

"I mean magically," I said, and raised my fingertips to my temples.

It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. It was small, but still stuck out like a sore thumb on the barren magical airwaves. I'd never seen anything quite like it in all my life, but the sense of foreboding I got simply from its existence led me to believe that getting near it would probably not be the smartest move I'd made so far.

"Whoa, that's...wierd," I said, to no-one in particular, "Really wierd."

"What is?" asked a voice. After a moment, I realised it was Locke's.

"I'm, uh, not quite sure," I admitted, "It's...kinda like when you pull the plug out of a sink, y'know? Kinda twisty and vortexy and...oh, _fantastic,_" I released my grip on the magical world and gave Locke a bright, glassy smile, "It's headed this way."

"_What_ is?"

"I dunno! I've never seen anything like it!" I repeated, "My initial suspicions are that its, well, _bad_."

"Well, what do we do?"

"Run!" I snapped, and then paused, "Well, _I'm_ going to run. I don't think it'll do anything to you, so feel free to follow along at your own pace."

"But where-"

His question fell on a puff of dust, as by that point I was already half-way down the corridor and still accelerating. This was _exactly_ what I needed – oh yes! I mean, who _didn't_ want a mysterious magical tornado of unspeakable (well, probable) destruction bearing down on them, _especially_ after that business on the train and those damn bees and even more damnable squishy eyebally things. For heaven's sake, bad luck was only supposed to come in _thr-_

"Wait, yer idiot!" Locke drew alongside me and grabbed me firmly by the arm, "Slow down!"

"He-hey!" I tried to keep up my pace, but found it rather difficult with seventy kilos of Kohlinglen's finest hanging off my right arm, "Stop that!"

"Calm yerself down and tell me what's goin' on!" Locke snapped, "Yer gettin' paranoid here, Firma!"

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded quickly, "Okay, maybe I am. Don't you think that might be, uh, a touch _reasonable_ when there's a strange magical hole bearing down on me?"

"Maybe it's a natural phenomenon," Locke shrugged, "Yer never been to this part of the world, have yer?"

"Well, no-"

"So, maybe it's a regular thing 'round here," he spread his hands, "Nobody else can sense magic! Why can't it be something less threatenin'?"

"I thought you stayed alive by being paranoid," I gave him an annoyed stare.

"Nah, I stayed alive by knowin' when ter run and when ter take it nice 'n easy like!" Locke sighed, "Look, pal, I ain't saying it ain't time ter run, but...just watch it for a couple of moments and see what it does, okay?"

"What?" I raised an eyebrow, "Can you, uh, repeat that?"

"Jus' observe it for a sec," Locke sighed, "Unless, o' course, yer wanna round the corner and run straight into a pair of Wraiths."

"_Now_ who's being paranoid?" I gave him a long, hard look, but finally sighed and said, "Okay, _fine_."

Locke's rejoinder of 'I'm just sayin' is all' was almost inaudible as I ducked back into the magical world. Annoyingly, the little sphere was still there, hanging in the void like a big black boil. For a moment, I sat there and just observed as it trooped merrily across space towards me.

"Well, it still seems to be gi-" I paused, as the thingy suddenly made a right-angle and started heading off to one side, "Now it's going a little...loopy. It's...uh," I opened my eyes and gave Locke a puzzled expression, "I think it's climbing the stairs. Well, some stairs. Uh..." I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts.

"Yer think it's being carried by someone an' that _someone_ is climbin' some stairs?" Locke filled in the blanks for me.

"That's about it," I nodded, "Which means it _isn't_ some random magical phenomenon."

"An' probably makes it some kinda magical weapon," Locke spread his hands, "The sorta thing yer might want if yer were plannin' on takin' on a Mage Knight."

"Mmm," there was a short pause, and then I gave Locke a pleading look, "Can we go now, _please_?"

"Tha' sounds like a _fantastic_ idea."

Now that we had established that the thing I _had_ originally been fleeing from was, in actually, a bloody _excellent_ thing to be fleeing from, we wasted absolutely no time in removing ourselves from the immediate area. The matter still remained, of course, that we were hopelessly lost in a castle of twisty turny and utterly _identical_ passages, but I figured that as long as we didn't end up in some damn cul-de-sac we could always keep running until we dropped dead from exhausting or found someone to give us a han-

My rather hasty thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt as I nearly collided with a Sentinel stepping out into the main corridor. My hurried stop and even more hurried salute seemed to do very little to improve his first opinion of me, and as he turned away I swore I could hear him mutter something uncomplimentary under his breath.

"Excuse me?" I ventured, well aware that the Mystery Magical Maelstrom was probably still meandering in my direction, "Excuse me, sir!"

"What is it, Trainee?" the Sentinel turned back, with a dark expression on his face.

"Um," I gave him a bright smile and clasped my hands together, ignoring Locke's dirty expression, "I'm in a bit of a rush, sir, so could you possibly direct me to the helipad? I need to, uh, evacuate."

The Sentinel gave me a look that suggested I was an utter madman, "You're on the wrong floor, Trainee," he said, in a slow deliberate tone that immediately set my teeth on edge, "Go to the next stairwell, go down three stories, and then take your third right and your second left. You can't miss it."

"Thank you very much, sir!" I gave him a quick smile and took off like a rocket.

"Sycophant," Locke muttered, "How come yer not like tha' to _me_?"

"Firstly, you don't outrank me, and secondly–" I frowned at him, "-_where_ did you learn the word 'sycophant'? You rob a library or something?"

"Jus' cause I didn't have a fancy education doesn't mean I don't know long words, pal," Locke growled, "An' a word to the wise – call me a thief again an' I'll give yer a rather violent punanectomy!"

"You'll..." my lips moved as I tried to work this one out, "You'll...rip my lungs out?"

"Aye," Locke said darkly, "Now, where's our little magical friend?"

"Beats me," I skidded round a corner, and almost knocked the bust of some prominent fellow off its plinth as I did so, "I can't run and scan at the same time – that's Terra's department."

"Well, let's stop an' find out!" Locke paused, and leaned against one of the omnipresent oaken doors for support, "Give me a chance ter get my breath back, anyways."

"Fine, two seconds," I closed my eyes, but was interrupted by Locke suddenly tugging at my sleeve.

"Firma-"

"What?" I gave him an irritated look through closed eyelids, "I'm trying to-"

"_Firma!"_

"_What?_" I opened my eyes to find Locke staring intently at my ear, "Locke, what's goin-"

"What your friend is trying to tell you, I believe," said a voice, in a rather posh Vectoran drawl, "Is that your attempts to locate your pursuer have become somewhat superfluous."

Slowly, and very, very carefully, I turned around to face the newcomer. From the sounds of it, and particularly the accent, I didn't have high hopes that this man would turn out to be a long-lost friend of mine. This theory, unhappily, was borne out by the rather powerful looking pistol that was pointed at my head. There was presumably a man somewhere behind it, and I could see the fingers wrapped tightly around the grip, but they seemed entirely secondary to the deep, black hole that suddenly seemed to fill my world.

"My word," I began, vaguely aware that I was starting to panic, "Are there any actual _Figarans_ in Figaro? I'm from Wareydon, _you're_ definitely from Vector, and-"

There was a subtle, but very nasty click as the man pulled the hammer back. The sound echoed in my head.

"Drop the case, please," his voice sounded pleasant enough, and I was still far too captivated by the gun itself to notice the deadly undertones running through the command.

"-I mean, _seriously_," I babbled inanely, "I've met, what, a couple of thugs, a ticket collector, and a shopkeeper, but everyone I've actually stopped to _talk_ to-"

There was a tremendous '_BANG' _and I was momentarily blinded by a bright flash of light as the gun went off. I threw my hands up in a vain attempt to protect my face, but for some reason there was no pain. For a moment I was faintly confused, but then I heard a groan of pain and the horrible, yet unmistakable sound of a body crashing to the floor.

"Locke!" I gasped, and suddenly I felt the mists of panic and adrenalin drop away leaving a world so clear that it seemed to have been cut from crystal. Locke was lying on the floor, groaning and clutching at his side, his white shirt already beginning to stain a deep, spreading red.

"Hold on, Locke," I said urgently, and put my hand out to bind the wound and prevent further blood loss. With a grimace of pain he batted my hand away, and gestured urgently at our attacker.

"That was a warning shot," the man said urbanely, "I trust that in the future you will carry out my commands the very instant I give them."

Slowly, deliberately, I clambered to my feet and turned to face the new assassin. A low-pitched, electrical hum picked up as my shields built to their full power, and the air around me began to glow a soft, golden colour. My mind was fizzing now, in the strange, cold way that it had back when I had attacked that guy on the train, and I was dispassionately amused to see a flicker of uncertainty cross the Vectoran's face as I dropped the attaché case loudly to the floor.

"Fine; it's been dropped;" I said, and there was a vicious 'crack' as I brought a sun-bright sphere of electrical death into existence; "Now it's your turn."

The world went white as the sphere slammed against the ground near the man's feet. Shards of red-hot shrapnel whipped by me, some disintegrating as they hit my shields, and somewhere in the snapping, snarling golden haze I saw a silhouette slam against one of the walls hard enough to crack the tiling. Pretty convinced that I had put paid to our rude visitor, I turned back to more closely inspect Locke's injury.

"Trauma appears to be largely superficial, although blood loss _is_ extensive," I muttered to myself in a rather clinical tone, "No major organs initially damaged, although large-scale necrosis arising from hydrostatic shock is a possibility."

"Firma, are...yer okay?" Locke seemed surprised by my assessment, "That...don't sound like what yer...look out!"

Curiously, I turned back around to see the Vectoran man clamber slowly to his feet with obvious difficulty. While I hadn't been all that interested in his features before, I could see now that they were equally uninteresting now that they were covered in second and third-degree burns, to say nothing of the shrapnel wounds. His simple grey clothing hung in bloodied tatters about his body, and his hair was sticking out like the quills of a porcupine. For some reason I felt a mild wave of amusement at that last feature, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the cold, deadly annoyance that this irritant had somehow avoided being reduced to his constituent atoms.

"They...they told me you were powerful," he began, and laughed nervously, "Maybe I...should have waited for some assistance, but...they gave me a little something extra."

"If you were smart, you would play dead," I said matter-of-factly, and the air around me twisted and howled as I compressed it into an orb of intense pressure, "I suppose that this is an example of evolution in action; you're not smart enough to play dead, and you won't be able to breed after I smear you across the ceiling," I raised the strange-looking sphere, "Goodbye."

As I hurled the sphere at its intended target, he suddenly whipped a strange-looking device out from behind his back and cast it towards me. As it passed through the sunlight, I saw that it caught and twisted the light in very strange ways, and with a faint thrill of alarm I realised that this was the device that I had detected being carried towards me.

Then it and my orb slammed headlong into each other, and exploded.

There was the beginning of a truly colossal explosion as my attack went off, but the noise then trailed off as the shockwave suddenly slowed, and stopped. The dark device at the centre of the explosion became, if possible, a little darker, and then expanded silently into a pitch-black hole a foot across. I felt a wind pick up, and I realised with shock that it wasn't a normal wind; I could actually feel raw magic streaming over and around me, twisting and whirling as it was sucked into the depths of the magical void. Numbly, I raised my own arm and watched, with fascination, as a golden-blue sparkling trail arced gracefully away from my fingertips.

With the departing magic came the brutal rush of beleaguered emotion and colour that I remembered from the train, and suddenly, quite suddenly, I realised that if I didn't make myself very scarce very quickly, I was going to burn out and die.

"Oh, _hell_," I felt that summed it up nicely. Quickly, I twisted back down and hefted my injured friend into a standing position.

"We have to go, Locke; _no-" _I stopped. From behind me, I had heard the very nasty-sounding click of another gun being cocked.

I had to tip my hat to the guy. With my shields in place it would probably take something like light artillery to put me down. Thanks to his new contraption, though, I was now rather deficient in the magic department. No magic, no shields – and without my shields my pasty body was just as ripe a target as anyone else's. With this in mind, I lunged for the nearest door and wrenched it open just as the man's wavering aim blew a large chunk of masonry out of the doorframe.

The room inside was cool and dark, and filled with a lot of rather strange shapes that I didn't really have time to identify. All that mattered at the moment was getting far away enough from the gunman and his little pet black hole that I could recover, recharge, and then deliver a counterattack that could be measured on the Richter scale. What I needed was a warehouse, or an office complex, or...or _anything_ but this!

"'S a fruit-room," Locke slurred, and laughed deliriously, "'S like a larder, but fer fruit!"

"I get it," I growled, and carried him as quickly as possible between the rows. Now that I could see bins filled with potatoes, carrots, and turnips, all poking out from below a loose layer of straw. Onions hung from the ceiling, suspended from long ropes, and I could just about make out some rather larger vegetables sitting at the back, "You would've thought they'd use big refrigerators like everyone else."

"I don't use big 'fridgerators," Locke said dully, and I gave him a concerned look. That wound was getting worse, "I'm...I'm a traditidionalist! Hurray!"

"Good – glad to hear it," I said, and set him down gently next to one of the many large racks, "Damn, I wish I had that pistol."

"Whasse point?" Locke snorted, "Yer'd only be too scared ter use it...."

"Be quiet, Locke," I snapped, "I don't need _you_ pointing that out to me, thank you very much. Mind you...at least the magic levels in here seem a little higher."

This was true. _Whatever_ that thing had been, its effects seemed to have been quite localised. While I didn't dare approach the door again while it was still thrumming around out there, in here at least there was enough for me to breathe. If I had a few seconds to rest, I could even take a stab at healing Locke...

"Hold on, Locke," I said quietly, "I'm going to staunch that bleeding. Let's get you up and well again before our good friend comes staggering around the corner."

"Thanks pal," he replied distantly, "Yer a pal..."

"Don't I know it," I grinned, and set to work with a dim gold-blue glow. It wasn't that the wound was particularly _bad -_ well, not for someone with magical abilities, but he _was_ losing a lot of blood and I didn't want to have to resynthesise every damn red blood cell in his body. Also, I supposed, it would mean he wouldn't die, although after that crack about me and that pistol...

After a couple of moments, I had managed to deaden the nerves around the trauma site and was beginning to regenerate the lost tissue. With relief, I noticed that Locke's eyes were beginning to refocus.

"What're yer plannin' on doin' about that bastard, eh?" he looked down at himself, "I'd help, but, well..."

"Uh...um...not sure..."

"Yer'd best think fast," Locke pointed out, "Yer messed up his hairdo with that electrical ball trick of yer's, an' he seemed like the kinda man ter take offence to that. Any chance of yer pullin' that off again?"

"Sorry - ambient magic levels're too low," I shook my head, "That damn anti-magic thing managed to drain me dry. I need something cheap and dirty...something like..." my gaze fell upon a couple of jars nearby, and I felt myself begin to grin a slow, horrible grin, "Yeah, that'll do nicely."

I have no doubt that our would-be assassin was expecting a lot of different things when he finally staggered around the corner. I have it on good authority, though, that he was most absolutely _not_ expecting a small jar of _Auntie Confiture's_ _Apricot Jam_ to hit him in the crotch at thirty miles an hour. As the poor bloke doubled up in agony I took aim with the other jar and, with unerring accuracy, caught him across the top of the head.

Most people, by this point, probably would have had enough, but I could see that our good man was possessed of a single-mindedness that wasn't about to let mere electricity and high-velocity consumables get between him and his target. Okay, so he _was_ now holding his gun in only one hand – but given the amount of room I had to manoeuvre I absolutely _didn't_ want to give him a moment to recover. With gritted teeth, I wrapped my mind around as much of the fruit in the room as I could muster and got to work.

There was a warning grind from one of the bins near the door, and with an explosion of straw an apple whipped across the room and knocked the gun from the assassin's hand. With a howl of pain, the assassin twisted towards the source of the flying produce just as vine of tomatoes, in perfect formation, sailed from the other way and splattered messily across the back of his head. As he turned back towards me, I quickly wrenched one of the ropes of onions free from the roof and swung it at him as forcefully as I could. For just a moment, I fancied I could see his eyes going wide before the thick hemp slammed into his nose with a very solid 'crack'.

"Ouch," I muttered, half to myself, half to Locke. The Vectoran fixed me with a murderous glare, and with a flick of a tattered wrist produced a long, thin blade that glinted evilly in the dim light.

"Fruit! Is that all you have left, Branford? _Fruit?"_ he raved, almost drenching us in spittle, "You think I'm afraid of your little _fruit_, you scrawny little bas-"

I made a single sharp gesture. There was a blur and an explosion of rind as a melon shot over my shoulder and caught the man right on his broken nose. A moment passed, while Locke and I watched the swaying melon-man with interest, and then he toppled over smoothly and hit the floor with a rather final-sounding 'thud'.

"Well, I've got big fruit too," I said smugly. There was a long, very awkward silence from behind me as Locke apparently considered the best thing to say.

"Firma..." he said eventually, "The thing about one-liners...well, most people aren't cut out fer 'em. Like you, fer instance."

"Huh," I snorted, "Uh, can I try again?"

"Take yer time," Locke clambered slowly to his feet, "My injury's fine, by the way."

"I know; I could sense that from here," carefully, I wrapped my mind around the man's knife and sent it flying off in the rough direction of the gun. He _looked_ out of it, but maybe he was just playing possum... "Oh, wait – how about this?"

"Is it anythin' like 'Look at the melons on this one!' or something 'orrible about him havin' his five-a-day, I'd rather yer just gave it a miss," Locke said quickly, "Same if yer plannin' anything to do with jam."

"So, no-"

"Or preservatives," Locke's face darkened, "I _know_ yer were thinkin' along those lines, pal."

"But-"

"It'd be better if yer just gave up entirely, Firma," he said, and patted me kindly on the shoulder, "Leave 'em to the men with posh tuxedos an' charmin' personalities, eh?"

"Fine, fine," I was, I decided, probably going to develop an irrational hatred of all things Kohlinglese, "Let me take a look at his injuries and we'll be on our way."

Now it was Locke's turn to be surprised, "What? Wait a sec, Firma – he was tryin' to _kill_ us."

"Yeah, and wouldn't it be nice to find out why?" I smiled grimly, "I mean, _beyond_ me being a Mage Knight and thus being a target of opportunity for the entirety of Imperial Intelligence."

"An' if he has friends?"

"Then they would've turned up _before_ I made a fool out of him," I brightened a little at that, "Hey – there you go! Fool? As in the desert? Does that count?"

"Not really," Locke growled, "Firma-"

"No!" my temper, already stretched a little by my inability to think up a decent rejoinder, gave a nasty twang, "I've never killed anyone, Locke, and I _don't_ intend on starting today!"

"Yer were certainly givin' it a good try about five minutes ag-"

"That was then," I said roughly, "This is now. He's not a threat anymore."

"Until yer heal him back up, at which point he'll probably jus' try to beat the stuffin' out of us once again-"

"-I don't propose to wake him up, Locke," I said wearily, "I'm just going to prevent him from dying. Look; the Silver Sentinels can hold him until we can learn something from him – I mean, aren't you curious about that anti-magic grenade? That sort of thing could render the Mage Knights obsolete!"

"Okay, okay, yer win!" Locke held up his hands, "Jus' keep him sedated until some backup arrives!"

"Sure, su-"I began, but was cut off by the rippling 'cla-click' of an _awful_ lot of guns being cocked. Moving very slowly and _extremely_ carefully, I raised my hands above my head and turned to find myself staring down a veritable forest of automatic rifles wielded by a group of burly men whose gazes stated _quite_ clearly that although I wasn't an immediate target, it would take very little effort on my part to cause a fatal reclassification.

In a single, fluid motion the group of men parted down the middle, revealing the severe features of Sentinel Ursula Asaline. It was hard to say, but I was at least _reasonably _certain, judging from her expression and general body language, that she was relieved to see me. Her eyes flickered quickly to the recumbent Vectoran and on to the blood-stain on Locke's shirt, before returning to bore directly into my eye-sockets.

"You are incredibly lucky or far more skilled than you appear, Trainee Branford," she said, in a very cool, calm tone of voice, "The man who just attacked you is known as Alando Fendon, and he is extremely dangerous."

"I gathered, ma'am," I said, before adding, in a somewhat annoyed tone, "Thank you for being so timely."

"We _were_ responding to an alert from the helipad, Trainee," Asaline said harshly, "Fendon struck there almost ten minutes ago. Apparently he thought that you would be on the helicopter by that point. Your pilot is dead, by the way."

"We got lost," I replied quietly, "I'm...sorry about the pilot."

The Sentinel shrugged in a very 'these things happen' kind of way, "You're alive. We thought that we would be too late, but...I see you've made your own arrangements."

"Indeed," my tone, although unintended, suggested very strongly that this was not a good subject matter.

"...in the process, unfortunately, I see you have caused extensive damage to some very old and indeed priceless sculptures," Asaline paused for a moment, and then shrugged again, "That hardly matters, though. We are here to escort you safely to the helicopter. Fendon..." her gaze flickered once again to the unconscious man, "...may have allies."

"Oh, that reminds me," I stood up, "Could you detain him? He might have some useful information."

"I doubt that," Asaline nodded in a very significant manner to one of her team members, and his expression became, if possible, even stonier, "In any case..."

The sunlight outside was particularly brilliant, and I squinted against the glare as our new honour guard led us back into the small garden. As my vision returned, I looked around and immediately wished I hadn't; the nearest pillar was coated in a fine spray of Locke's blood, and a little way down the hallway was the blackened crater caused by my spirited attempt at blowing the man to kingdom come. Aside from those two features, however, the little quadrangle seemed as peaceful as ever, which in some strange way almost seemed _worse_ that the wreckage. For some reason, I at least wanted some recognition that someone had properly tried to blow _my_ head off here, not just some blood spatter and a small hole.

"How are you feeling?" from Asaline's tone of voice, I deduced that she wasn't interested in my emotional well-being, "I know that that Alando detonated a device specifically designed to incapacitate you..."

"It seems okay out here," I said eventually, "I suppose that that device isn't particularly long lived, whatever it is."

"A Figaran design, developed about five years ago," Asaline said clinically, "We thought it was abandoned, but apparently not."

"Who is this...'we', ma'am?" I looked at her appraisingly, "Not the Sentinels, sure-"

My statement was cut off as a loud 'BANG' echoed from the fruit store. Stunned, I looked around only to realise that everyone else, including Locke, appeared to be entirely unsurprised by this turn of events.

"Wait!" I looked over at my friend, then back at Asaline, and then felt a deep, cold feeling settle into my bones, "Did...did you-"

"Yes," Sentinel Asaline gave me a hard look, "We finished the job for you."

"But...but...I-he," I took a deep breath, "You _killed_ him?"

"Yes," this time, she sounded rather exasperated.

"You _killed_ him."

"I thought the Father Superior explained this to you," Asaline said, coldly, "I am _not_ about to let someone like that live."

"Ah, calm down, Ursula," Locke said amiably, and stepped between us, "Firma's...still gettin' used to this. He's spent 'is whole life bein' sheltered at IAF Wareydon, an' I bet that this is all still a bit of a nasty shock."

"If that is the case, then _you_ should be taking better care of him, Cole," Asaline retorted, "That pistol was not given to him so it could sit in that attaché case. Why didn't you press the point?"

"Well, yer see," Locke said easily, "Maybe I was expectin' a certain Sentinel an' her band of heavily armed guards _not_ ter be caught nappin' by a serial killer wit' all the subtlety o' a knee ter the groin."

"On the other hand-"

"Yer want to know wha' I _actually_ think happened here, Ursula?" Locke leaned in, "I think that a certain Sentinel an' her band of heavily armed guards _weren't_ actually foolin' around at the helipad; that they had a good eye on their objective an' when Fendon came for Firmament they shot 'im dead, I mean-" he jerked his thumb back towards the fruit store, "Th' man's got a bullet lodged in 'is forehead, if I'm any judge o' yer men's marksmanship. Now, I'll tell yer what _didn'_ happen," he leaned in further, and Asaline leaned back ever so slightly, "What _didn'_ happen is that a wet-behind-the-ears Trainee laid 'im out cold wit' a servin' of fruit punch an' yer men put a bullet or two in a helpless man's 'ead, 'cause that _don' _happen," he leaned back and sighed, "'least, it doesn't happen in real life, fer sure."

"Wait a second – _fruit punch_?" I gave him an evil look, "You were saving that one up, weren't you."

"Jus' came to me," Locke shrugged, "Now, Ursula, I think that the bes' thing yer can do at the moment is get Firma an' me to the helipad safe 'n sound. It were a nice touch bringin' in one of our pilots ter do the job, but I'm thinkin' that it probably weren't necessary," he gave me a sidelong look, "Am I right, pal?"

"Good guess," I said flatly, "Care to elaborate?"

Locke and Asaline exchanged a long, steady look, and Asaline coughed.

"He'll figure it out eventually," she said.

"No doubt, but I like ter keep 'em guessing," Locke smirked, 'Sides, it's not like yer came clean with me right away, eh 'Tanis'?"

"Fine; have it your way," I sighed, "Can we go? Suddenly this place doesn't seem quite so friendly.

It seemed like Locke's dead reckoning hadn't gotten us quite as lost as I thought, as it only took ten minutes quick march for Locke, myself, and the veritable armada of heavily-armed-people-who-were-probably-not-actually-Sentinels to emerge onto a large, raised area of plain white stone. Someone had clearly taken a lot of time in painting a large yellow 'H' onto the ground, but I couldn't really see the point – a quick, hurried look over the battlements revealed that we were still a very, very long way above the forests, and I couldn't see anything in the bone-chilling view that looked even remotely like a good landing place for any aircraft, rotary-wing or otherwise.

The helicopter that had been laid on for us was, I decided, a fairly unimpressive affair that was at least a decade behind the current Imperial fleet. On the other hand, it was clearly designed simply to move up to four people from point A to point B, with particular emphasis on the 'simply' part. It looked, strangely enough, like someone had strapped a pair of blades onto a large concrete block and expected it to fly, and to be perfectly honest I half-expected the whole thing to collapse in flames the instant we tried to put pedal to the medal.

There were a couple of Sentinels standing near the helicopter apparently poring over the ground. As we approached, I was unsurprised that they were actually in the process of wrapping a body in a simple white sheet, and close inspection of the side of the helicopter showed that a fair amount of the poor man's head had been deposited there.

"Shot clean through the head," one of them said, and saluted Asaline as she approached, "Of course, when I say clean..."

"It was a high calibre pistol, sir," his companion added, and held up a massive revolver for general inspection, "It'll probably be raining brains for a week."

"Thank you for that description," Asaline said curtly, "We managed to catch up with Fendon before he managed to assassinate Trainee Branford; he's dead."

"Yes, sir," they both nodded, as if this was perfectly normal, "What beats me is why he'd want to use such a...a _handcannon_ to begin with. He managed to put a hole in this man's face _and_ through the helicopter. What was he hoping to accomplish."

"I'm not sure, sir, but he may have been trying to break through my shields," I chimed in, "He was probably expecting me to be here instead of...being lost," I looked suspiciously at Locke, who shrugged, "Wait a second, Lock-"

"Fortunate, tha'" he said, in a very neutral tone, "I guess that when he fired that _everyone_ would've come runnin' eh?"

"Exactly," one of the men gave Locke a curious look, "I don't think you'd be able to conceal a gun like this, either."

"So he'd had have ter go an' get his backup gun an' a little extra ter take on our good Mage Knight here," Locke nodded in a rather self-satisfied manner, "Jus' glad I weren't hit by _that_ monster. Yer'd've had a bit 'o trouble puttin' me back together after _that_."

"Indeed," I looked at the wrapped up body, and shuddered, "Anyway, we'd better go."

"Aye-" Locke turned back to Sentinel Asaline, "Well, Ursula, it's been a pleasure."

"Likewise," she replied coolly.

"I'm sorry tha' none of it really went ter plan, though," Locke inclined his head in my direction, "This one's a bit o' a handful."

"Indeed," Asaline continued in the same, cool tones, "Do give my regards to your...benefactor."

"Of course," Locke snorted, "I'll be sure ter tell 'im of your darin' exploits. Maybe you and yer men'll find a little summat in yer wallets come payday."

"You're too kind," the Sentinel gestured to her men and the forensics team, and they all retreated to a safe distance. Locke watched them go before turning to me with a shake of his head.

"Frigid..." he paused, and shook his head again, "Ah, well. Yer'd better get us up in the air 'fore she decides to brighten our day once again."

I decided to keep my opinions of my superior officer to myself as I slipped into the pilot's seat. From what I could see, the helicopter's control system seemed to be pretty much a predecessor of the type that I used to train on, although, naturally, all the switches were labelled in Figaran. Still...

It took me a bit of work, but between my entry-level knowledge of Figaran cursive and my own experience with the thankfully-standardised helicopter dashboards I slowly began to bring the mighty blades to life. As I did so, I began to go over the past few days in my head, particularly how lucky I'd been regarding surviving three attempted assassinations _and_ that whole ordeal in the cave. While, yes, surviving the critters in the cave had been my doing, the chances that _someone_ had been wandering through that part of that cave at that time in the morning just to save me from drowning were slim to none. Then, of course, there was Sentinel Asaline, who I was beginning to suspect was either not a Sentinel at all or, at best, was wearing another, rather shadier circlet at the same time, to say nothing of her blatantly-commando buddies, who I suspected had the collective medical talent of a bunch of bananas.

Locke, however, was the obvious lynchpin here. He _knew_ Sentinel Asaline, or was at least on a first-name basis with her, and the way she had acted around him at least implied that they were equals, or he was very slightly superior to her. It also seemed strange that someone like him, who seemed to have been everywhere, would get lost in Sacae Castle at the exact same time that a serial killer was planning to jump us at the helipad. Obviously, he was hiding something, but from what he had said before it didn't sound like it was malicious in the slightest; indeed, he was quite happy for me to work out what he was hiding, but I had to work it out before he'd say anything.

Of course, there was also that mystery benefactor...who we were apparently going to see. The mystery benefactor at Castle Figaro...oh, of _course_.

"Bloody hell, how could I have been that stupid?" I said, and banged my head against the dashboard, "Of-sodding-_course!_"

"There a problem?" Locke said, and hopped into the seat next to me. He was holding the shiny attaché case that contained that damnable pistol, and before I could comment he stuck it on a back seat and turned to face me, "Yer left it outside that fruit-room, but one o' Asaline's goons brought it with 'im."

"Oh, good," I said dully, "Thank heavens for that."

"Aye," he grinned wryly, "There a problem, pal?"

"I'll... say more when we're in the air."

"Oh?" Locke's eyebrows went up, "Better do it quickly; else yer going ter have to spent the afternoon talking to Ursula."

"That's not funny," I muttered, and pulled back hard on the stick. The blades whined for a moment as they fought to get the unwieldy brick airborne, but once the wheels left the stone pad they seemed to settle down slightly. They were still intensely annoying, of course, but at least they weren't screeching at me in a somewhat worrisome manner.

"So, which way to Castle Figaro?" I looked at Locke, "I assume we're still going to Castle Figaro, right?"

"Oh, aye, no change there," he pointed indistinctly at the horizon, "Jus' keep goin' forward. It's dead easy ter find."

"You sure?"

"'Course I'm sure, pal," Locke grinned, "Yer think I never done this before?"

"Of course you've done this before," I smiled myself, "In fact, I'm beginning to get the feeling that there's not a lot you haven't done, which is kinda impressive for your age."

"Oh aye?"

"Well, y'see, the first time I met you I thought you were pretty much just a street-wise guy who had a soft spot for the underdog – y'know, right up until the point you killed that Mick fellow."

"Poor guy," Locke sighed, "Didn't deserve that, really."

"Indeed," I leaned forward and quickly adjusted a few dials, "Then, of course, there was that whole business on the train, but you know what? I'm beginning to think that you're a lot smarter then you claim to be. I'm beginning to bet that that while rigmarole actually _engineered_. Sure, our enemies knew we were on the train, but I think they wanted to wait until we were in the tunnel before they struck so we'd have nowhere to run. On the other hand, you stopping the train early screwed _that_ over and forced them to rush us pretty much one at a time."

"Could be, could be..."

"Then there was that bit in the cave. Okay, you screwed up with the bees, but that's a random factor – coulda happened to anyone. However, I got stuck in that lake with those furry things-"

"-Blearies," Locke caught my expression, "'Cause o' the bleary eyeball, see?"

"-yeah, anyway, I burned myself out and ended up unconscious in the water, but someone had to've been nearby to rescue me before I drowned. Couldn't've been you, 'cause you were out cold from that sting, so I reckon that it was someone who _you_ told to meet us there, and I think it was probably someone like Asaline or one of her goons. "

"Yer've got a pretty impressive line 'o reasoning going on here, pal," Locke settled back, "Keep goin'."

"That would explain why we ended up at Castle Sacae instead of being dinner for some grubbing critter down in that damn cave, _and_ it would explain why someone rocked up at Sacae armed with an enormous pistol _and_ some strange, archaic anti-magic grenade. I reckon that whatever system you used to let your friends know about us has a mole in it, and I'm pretty sure you know about that, too."

"Yer think?"

"I think you got lost on purpose."

"Aye?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "You and Asaline probably suspected that Fendon would attack the helicopter if it looked like it was about to take off, so I'll _bet_ that you guys sacrificed that pilot in order to call him out. I know it sounds horrible, but I-I _think_ I'm getting an idea for how you guys play this sort of thing."

"Life's harsh, true enough."

"Unfortunately, he slipped by Asaline's people but had to drop his gun in the process. He got out his replacement, pulled out that grenade, and...well, the rest is history. What d'ya think?"

"An' I thought yer were a scatterbrained fool wit' just enough wits ter tie yer own shoelaces," Locke nodded, "That's actually pretty close to ter truth, an' I reckon that that means-"

"Yeah, I've got a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Alright," I took a deep breath, "What I'd like to know, Mr. Figaro Intelligence, is why this all happened. _What_, exactly, is going on in Narshe?"


	17. Chapter 16: Castle Doctrine

**Chapter 16 – Castle Doctrine**

There are two schools of thought about my brilliant leap of deductive reasoning in working out that Locke was a member (sorry, an _operative_) of Figaro Intelligence. One of these schools, naturally, belongs to me, and the reasoning follows that it _was_ a brilliant leap of deductive reasoning that should've probably earned me several medals. The other school of thought belongs to my fiancée, the cliff notes version of which was that if I have enough time to retrospectively pat myself on the back I _also_ have enough time to shut up and go mow the lawn.

Regardless of whichever line of thought you may subscribe to, there remains the fact that I haven't really talked much about Figaro Intelligence – and I should probably at least give you useless berks the cliff notes version of what that organisation does, or...did. Some of it I won't be able to talk about for another thirty-odd years, but that's okay because I can summarise their activities as 'pretty pathetic'.

There's a good reason for this, really, but to get the picture you need to look at the history of the two great superpowers knocking around at this time. You may remember that the Vectoran Empire was founded when some long-dead proto-Emperor went _veni vidi vici_ on the rest of the continent – with rather heavy emphasis on the _vici_. Of course, the 'rest of the continent' wasn't particularly chuffed about being so comprehensively _vici'd_ and even _less_ chuffed about having to having to pay taxes to this arrogant upstart, and they decided to voice their displeasure primarily through the medium of explosive percussion. Classically, it's considered difficult to run an Empire when half your subjects are blowing the ever lovin' hell out of the other hand, and so a new department was formed to go round to these people's houses and explain, with extreme precision, exactly _how_ unhappy the Emperor was with their antics. Thus, Imperial Intelligence was born.

The Kingdom of Figaro, however, has a very different past. While, _yes_, there were a lot (and I mean a _lot_) of communities rocking up and beating the hell out of one another, the overall trend ended up being a sort of Brownian motion style aggregation of people into larger and larger communities, before the final two looked at each other, shrugged, and finally formed South Figaro and...the other bit. As the amalgamation of the Kingdom happened over such a long period of time, there was much, _much_ less aggro between different populations and, as a result, the only people the Kingdom had to worry about were the standard far-right and far-left lunatics with chemistry kits - and as _that_ didn't really need burly assassins conducting experimental dentistry at two in the morning the most clandestine that the government of Figaro ever _really_ got was its undercover police force.

This is not to say, however, that Figaro was totally in the dark regarding the ongoing machinations of other countries. After all, international politics is a cut-throat game with obvious consequences for losing. However, the method that the Kingdom came up with was slightly different to that of Vector; while the Empire had the odd informant at its disposal, Figaro's ranks positively _teemed _with them. Sure, some of the intelligence they received was probably a little dodgy, and it probably cost them more than the Empire to maintain their clandestine edge, but at the same time it's easier to deny a connection with someone when they're not wearing a homespun uniform and using your equipment. The counterpoint to _that_, however, is that when you throw your doors open to the public you tend to end up recruiting a lot of dross. Sometimes, however, you end up finding geniuses in places you didn't think to look...

"Well done, Firma," Locke said eventually, and when he spoke there seemed to be something curiously..._different_ about his voice, "I was beginning to wonder when you'd figure it out."

"I've had a lot on my mind recently," I said roughly. There was a long period of silence broken only by the steady 'thud thud thud' of the helicopter blades, and I was eventually compelled to expand my explanation with, "I don't have stupid amounts of brainpower to devote to The Mystery of Locke's Paymaster – and wait a sec!" an errant neuron in my brain finally fell into line, "What's happened to your voice? Don't tell me that all those 'yers' and 'pals' were all a bloody act!"

"Of course it was," Locke settled back into his seat, "Didn't your dear, sweet grandmother ever tell you that all foreigners are ignorant savages? If you act like you're from the arse end of a backwater country then people're going to think you're stupid, and people _like_ people stupider than themselves."

"Oh," I considered it for a moment, and added, "I'll have to remember that."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it, Firma," Locke laughed suddenly, but stopped when he caught my expression, "You're a natural."

"Really."

"Oh yeah," Locke either didn't hear the flatness of my voice or chose to ignore it, "You have an accent thick enough to float crumpets on, you've _blatantly_ just come from a Vectoran winter-" he added, indicating my pasty-white complexion, "-and you wandered into one of the roughest bars in South Figaro with nary a care for your own life. To be honest, I thought you were going to start talking to the barman in a really loud, slow voice...hah," he chuckled to himself, "That would've ended _really_ well."

"I'm not _that_ stupid!" I said defensively.

"'Never said you were, but it's the same thing," Locke shrugged, "The average man in the street prefers it if you talk their lingo, and if you turn up somewhere rural saying 'Alright, pal! 'Ow's the turnips goin'?' you'll maybe get more luck than if you use...oh, _your_ accent."

"Oh, come _on_," I shook my head, "People aren't _that _stupid!"

"Really?" the man inclined his head, "Well, let's see – you're a smart kid. I bet you thought that I was a _little_...not all there when we met, right?"

"Of course not!" I protested.

"Honestly?"

"Well...maybe a little," I admitted eventually, just to get out from under that piercing gaze, "I get the point, anyway."

"Good, 'cause putting that accent on was beginning to make my gob hurt."

"I see," I said unsympathetically. Truth be told, I was rather a little annoyed about having been played for a chump for all this time, "Well, in any case...let's go back to my original question; what's going on in Narshe? Why is the Empire suddenly so interested in a mining city that's so cold, I hear, that running naked in the snow can turn you into an eunuch?"

"I'm...not sure," Locke said eventually, "All I heard is that the Narshians were following some vein of precious metals. They got greedy and dug deeper than maybe they should have, and...they uncovered something _strange_."

"Strange? Like what?"

"Ah," he grinned wryly, "_That's_ the bit I don't know. I'm not privy to _everything_ that goes on in the world. Maybe it's related to you, but maybe it isn't."

"What makes you think it's related to me?"

For just a moment, Locke's expression suggested that he really, _really_ wished he hadn't said that, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived, "Well...it's just a hunch, but I think that whatever it is may be related to the Empire's MagiTek weaponry."

"That's quite a big hunch," I replied scornfully, "Do you _really_ think that Empire R&D depends upon random archaeological finds in the arse end of nowhere?"

"It makes sense to me!" Locke held up his hands defensively, "At the moment the Empire's way, _way_ ahead of anyone else when it comes to its military, and, I'll tell you, that's almost _all_ down to its MagiTek weaponry line. You and your sister are curiosities – _important_ curiosities, mind you," he added quickly, "But until they find a cheap way of making companies of you that damn armour is going to be the best they've got. If you were the Emperor, wouldn't you want to stop anyone else getting their hands on anything like it?"

"...maybe," I said eventually, "_I_ think it's just the Empire saying 'If we can hit Narshe, we can hit _anywhere! _Maybe you should be nice to us, so we don't have to pay _you_ a visit!'"

"Well, it's that too," Locke grinned again, "Who's to say it's got to be only one thing?"

There was a long, awkward silence in the helicopter as it plodded onwards and upwards across Figaran territory. Our vantage point, half a kilometre up, gave a pretty impressive view of the landscape – and while it wasn't as varied as the Southern Continent I still had to admit that it was beautiful in its own way. The thick, dark forests around Castle Sacae had given way to rolling hills covered with gently rippling golden wheat, broken up every so often by a fallow field or small, red-bricked towns. It seemed like an incredibly peaceful place, and for a little while I felt bad about shattering it with the aerial equivalent of a pneumatic drill.

"This is where most of the world's wheat supply comes from," Locke said, and nodded off in the distance to where a glinting red machine was chewing through the stalks, "They're in the middle of harvesting it, by the looks of things."

"Looks like nothing really happens around here," I muttered, "Lucky bastards."

"I did a job here a little while ago," Locke said, leaving me to entertain thoughts about what that 'job' had entailed, "Spent a week or so scouting it out, and let me tell you; this is the most boring place in the world. 'Sides-" he affected a rather strange, drawling tone, "-you 'ain't from round here', Firma. If you tried to magic up a good harvest they'd have you up on a stake 'fore you knew what hit you."

"Really?" I grinned, "Is that a common pastime around here?"

"Used to be," Locke said darkly, but brightened a moment later with, "You ever had any trouble, y'know, with your-"

"Abnormality?" I raised my eyebrows.

"I wasn't going to say _tha-_"

"We had some trouble with some older lads about four years ago – Terra and I, that is," I shrugged, "I dunno what their problem was, really, but for some reason they used to go around spreading rumours about what we'd _done_ to get our magical abilities. Maybe they thought it was funny or something."

"I think I know the sort, aye," Locke nodded.

"The worst it got was when they decided to see if Terra floated," I took my hand off the cyclic to make a random gesture, "Y'know, 'cause she was a witch and all...so they pushed her in the indoor swimming pool."

"Wow."

"...yeah. She, uh, kinda lost it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Turned the whole place into a sauna," I smirked wickedly to myself, "Mind you, after that we didn't have any real issues with them – well, not after she healed their scalds, anyway."

"I suppose they learned their lesson."

"Yeah; it's not a good idea to piss Terra off," I said, and gave him a serious look, "I mean that. She's the sort of person who takes ages to boil over, but when she does...well, the term 'blast radius' tends to get thrown around a lot," I paused for a moment, and added, "So do people, as it happens."

"How about...flirting?" Locke suddenly seemed very introspective, "How does she respond to that?"

"Confusion, normally. She doesn't really, uh, _get_ it," I shot him a suspicious glare, "Wait; why're you asking? You're not-"

"...because the person we're going to see is well known for hitting on anything that has a pulse – well, within reason," Locke raised an eyebrow, "I hope she doesn't roast the castle because she-"

"Oh, no, she'll be fine," I said reassuringly, "She's much, _much_ better than she used to be."

This, at least, is very true. These days Terra seems to be a happy, well-adjusted woman who doesn't look like she'd hurt a fly, never mind incinerate the next bloke who winks at her. I mean, sure, there was that incident with the late Birston Four, but by and large you'd never dream that this was the person who was so unruly, bad-tempered, and generally _dangerous_ that she was given the nickname 'Firebrand' as a child. You'll probably see for yourself in a little while, but let's just say that it's a testament to how bad she was that she actually _mellowed_ as a teenager.

Sorry, Tee; but I thought I'd better include that just so you know that I haven't forgotten about you. Let's do a deal, eh? The sooner you stop pestering me the sooner I'll stop besmirching your character.

The fields of wheat and maize slipped away underneath us as the day drew on, and the small farming communities gave way to larger and more advanced-looking settlements in the middle of the plains. Dirt roads were replaced with large tarmac-covered highways and an extensive rail system, along which large, silvery trains travelled in a manner that, for no apparent reason, reminded me of fish. Occasionally I spotted a fellow helicopter, generally hovering around one of the larger riverside towns, but aside from that the skies around us seemed surprisingly clear.

"Damn, it's hot up here," Locke muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Mmm..." I had been concentrating too much on flying to notice the heat, but now that Locke had brought it up the cockpit suddenly seemed like an oven, "Nothing I can really do about that. Sorry."

"Are you sure?" Locke leaned back further into his seat, which made an unpleasant squelching noise.

"No, I actually _love_ this whole 'frying gently' schtick we've got going on here, Locke," I snorted, "I really _can't_ do anything about it. We'd need Celes-" I frowned as another thought hit me, "Oh, man...I hope she's okay."

"I'm sure she's in a better situation than we are, eh?" Locke said reassuringly, "'Sides, from what I've heard she can probably handle herself."

"That's definitely true," I raised my eyebrows, "She can be pretty ruthless if she wants to be."

"But she had that picture of you in her wallet, didn't she?" Locke grinned, "What's going on there, then?"

"Nothing!" I felt that that denial wasn't really enough, and followed it up with, "No, there's really _nothing_ going on there. Besides, she's got a picture _containing_ me, not of _me_ specifically."

"That's still...very sweet, though," Locke caught my expression, "It is! Don't you keep pictures of your friends and family in your wallet?"

"No, 'cause I'd need a wallet a mile wide."

"Yeah," Locke's eyebrow went up again, "You definitely seem like the type who makes friends easily."

"Okay," I didn't much care for his attempt at irony, "So who's in _your_ wallet, eh?"

"Oh...the odd person. Y'know, random people I met on the street," Locke said evasively. For a moment I considered pressing him further, but decided that it was too damn hot to get into an argument.

"Have it your way," I shrugged and rapped the side of my headset, "Change of subject and all, but is it me or has no-one bothered to contact us? Surely _someone_ wants to know why there's a helicopter blundering halfway across the continent!"

"They know already, Firma," Locke looked out his side at some object of interest below, "You see, we're _expected_."

That in itself wasn't particularly encouraging, but I decided to let it slide as well. Another hour or four passed, and I watched dully as the sun crawled across the sky and the industrial landscape beneath us changed, with agonising slowness, into the same sort of scraggly scrubland that I had come to associate with South Figaro.

Locke stirred and stretched, "Looks like we're coming up on the desert now. How're you doing?"

"Fantastically," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "If I ask nicely do you think they'll send another assassin? I'm getting bored."

"Be careful what you wish for, Firma," Locke said warningly, "There's not much left now. Just keep going; the castle's normally somewhere around here."

"Normally?"

"Yeah," I could see that Locke was struggling to provide an adequate answer, "It's a bit...unique."

There wasn't really any answer to that beyond a simple 'riiight', so I decided to leave it at that and get back to watching the landscape slowly change beneath us. Here, the scrubland was slowly beginning to thin out and give way to what _I_ thought of when I thought of the Figaro Desert- sand dunes, and lots of them. Although the sun was setting, I kept my neck craned for a sight of one of the chocobo caravans that I'd read about in song and story, but in the end I had to conclude that if there really were forty thieves hidden somewhere in this desert, they weren't about to bloody come out and wave at passing helicopters.

"Are we there yet?" I asked, just as the sun started to dip below the horizon, "Only the helicopter's beginning to complain. See that red light?" I tapped the dashboard with a single digit, "I'm no good at Figaran, but I'm pretty sure that's a bad sign."

"It should be around here somewhere..." I heard Locke mutter indistinctly to himself.

"Well, you'd better find it quickly or we're going to have to get out and push," I pressed, "C'mon, we don't have lon-"

"There! There it is!" Locke pointed at a low-slung blob in the distance that I, admittedly, had dismissed as something that wasn't a castle, "Quick; give me the radio!"

Quickly, I unslung the headset and passed it over. There was a short pause while Locke fiddled with the dial, and then:

"Castle Figaro? This is Locke Cole. Can yer let His Royal Majesty know I'm 'ere? He's expectin' me."

"Back to Common Cole, then?" I raised my eyebrows, "It seems more natural to me."

"Sssh!" Locke returned to the radio, "'m sorry, can yer repeat that? I go' a right 'andful here and he's not makin' it any easier fer me ter hear yer! Ah, yer'll turn on the landin' lights?" he nodded quickly at me, then "Obliged, pal."

"You're meant to say 'over', you know," I said, taking the radio headset back off him, "And don't you think you were overegging it there...y'know, just a _little_?"

Locke shrugged, "I said before, let-"

"-them think you're an idiot. I got that bit," I rolled my eyes, "You just do it so well I'm surprised they even offered you the job."

"There's a long story behind that," Locke replied, "But it'll have to wait. They're getting ready for our arrival."

I had spotted it too. A quartet of red lights had suddenly winked into existence on the roof of the thing that I was sure couldn't have been a castle, and a moment later they were joined by four brilliant floodlights that clearly illuminated the large 'H' painted across a metallic surface. At this distance I couldn't be sure if there was anyone lurking around the edge, but I make a mental note to bring my shielding up as soon as we got within reasonable range.

"Quickly, Firma," Locke said tensely, clearly sensing my anxiety, "'sooner we're off this helicopter, the sooner we're out of range of anyone with a rocket launcher-"

"-and back into gun and knife territory," I pinched the bridge of my nose, and brought the helicopter down towards the helipad, "I know - I'm looking forward to it too."

"I wouldn't say I'm-oof!" Locke's voice was cut off as we hit the helipad a good meter or so before I expected to. The entire helicopter juddered and tilted alarmingly before I brought it back under control for a second, rather gentler landing.

"Uh, sorry about that," I said, killing the power before anything else go wrong.

"I thought you could fly one of these things!" Locke said, and I could see that his fingers had gone white where they had dug into the seat.

"Fly? Yes," I smirked, "Land? No."

"Yeah, I got that bit," Locke growled.

"Just be grateful you weren't aboard when I last flew to Tzen. The ground controller called me all kinds of uncomplimentary things," I smiled disarmingly, "If it helps, I've gotten a lot better since then!"

"Really?" Locke unlocked and slid back his door with a vicious little motion.

"Hey, I have a busy schedule!" I retorted, "It's hard to remember _every _little-"

"Major-domo!" Locke had hopped out of the helicopter, his voice suddenly cheery once again. It occurred, belatedly, that he wasn't actually speaking to me, "Nice ter see you again! How long's it been? Six months? A year?"

"Too long, Mr. Cole," a thin, reedy voice replied. For some, inexplicable reason, I had the feeling that the man wasn't being _entirely_ truthful, "I trust that this is important? The King is very busy at the moment. _Very_ busy indeed, you might say."

"'m sure he'll be interested in wha' I got ter show him!" Locke's hand reappeared and gestured, sharply, that I should get out of the helicopter. I did so with some difficulty, and ended up half dropping, half prat-falling onto the helipad. It went 'boing' under my feet, confirming my original supposition that it was made of metal.

Both Locke and this new guy looked rather unimpressed with my hurried exit of the helicopter, and now that I got a chance to look at the reedy-voiced man I could immediately see that he and I were going to get along just _famously_. He was not exactly a tall man, but what he lacked in height he made up for in hat. Similarly, he was of a very slight build, but his rather over-stated green-and-red costume immediately put me in mind of an opera villain who had rather missed the point. His face certainly fit the bill, too; to my mind, the beady little eyes and hilariously overdone nose appeared to have been lifted wholesale from some predatory bird. It wasn't the ridiculous getup that set me against him, however; rather the feeling, deep down, that _here_ was the amalgamation of every single bureaucrat, every _single_ officious, puffed-up, self-important pencil-pusher that I had ever had the misfortune to cross forms with. Slowly, and totally without me willing it, I felt the fingers of my right hand begin to clench.

"Major-domo, this is Mage Knight Firmament Branford," Locke introduced us, "Firma, this is major-domo Lamont."

"Pleased to meet you," we both said simultaneously, before I asked, "So, what's a major-domo? Are you part of the military?"

The major-domo surveyed me with a look that suggested that he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Finally, he sighed, "A major-domo, Mage Knight, is the chief steward of a sovereign's household – such as Castle Figaro. His Majesty is expecting you, and we must not keep him waiting."

With a rather over-dramatic flick of his cape, he turned and walked towards the edge of the helipad, leaving Locke and I to trail along after him.

"_Mage Knight?"_ I muttered to Locke.

"_It sounds more impressive than 'Trainee Sentinel', aye?"_ Locke switched back to what I was now mentally terming 'High Cole', _"'Sides, that's why you're here. You're not here as a medic, Firma. Oh, and be nice to the major-domo; he gets most of the work done around here."_

"_I-"_

"_I saw your hand."_

"_I'm sorry! I can't help it!"_ I replied defensively, _"Something about him immediately got my back up!"_

"_That's how you know he's good at his job," _Locke smirked, _"Besides; the position of major-domo is both honourable _and_ ancient."_

"_So's that uniform," _I sniggered.

"Ey, Lamont!" Locke called the major-domo, possibly to avoid arousing suspicion, "Firma was wonderin' about this castle. 'e'd like ter know how it can only 'sometimes' be in t'same place. Would yer like to explain it to 'im?"

"Mr. Cole," Lamont replied, with somewhat exaggerated patience, "As you well know, I am an _exceedingly_ busy man and the king _is_ awaiting your arrival. If you wish me to lecture the boy-"

"-huh!-" I muttered.

"-in the mechanics of the castle, then it shall have to wait for another day. If, in the meantime, you should see fit to festoon upon him the knowledge that you yourself possess, then that would assuage the rather dubious need for me to become involved in such mundane matters."

"A simple 'no' woulda sufficed, pal," Locke replied irritably, "Where's the king, anyways?"

"King Edgar shall receive you in his chambers, Mr. Cole. I believe you are familiar with them."

"Oh, aye; plenty 'o good stuff goes on in there, if yer know what I mean!" he nudged me hard enough to knock me sideways, "Nudge nudge, wink wink, say no mo-_ah_, sir!"

"Are you attempting to irritate me, Mr. Cole?" Lamont, to my mind, _was_ beginning to sound a little annoyed, "I have heard more...insalubrious statements regarding His Majesty's proclivities, allow me to assure you."

"No doubt you 'ave, Lamont," Locke chuckled, "But if yer say that the King's waitin' for us, then yer better lead on! No sense catchin' our deaths out here, eh pal?"

"_I thought you told me to be nice to him!" _I whispered, as the major-domo turned away haughtily.

"_Yeah, but I'd forgotten how much he annoys me," _Locke said, _"'Sides, it helps my image. You be on your best behaviour, y'hear? Good impressions and all that...although," _his expression acquired a nasty edge, _"I think you lost that battle when you fell out of the helicopt-"_

"_Shut up!" _I hissed, _"Just...shut up!"_

It was immediately apparent, even to me, that there was a massive difference between this castle and, say, Castle Sacae. While the latter had been effectively turned into a university, _this_ place was clearly designed to receive and impress visitors, and it showed. Where Sacae had hard stone underfoot, Figaro had wall-to-wall carpeting so thick I almost lost track of my boots. Admittedly, it was a little threadbare in places, but I was willing to allow that given the amount of gold filigree that seemed to have gone into decorating the rest of the building. Every corridor had some kind of outlandishly ornate artefact, generally sitting on a little plinth out of the way, and most of the large, arched rooms we crossed were crammed with books held in enormous floor-to-ceiling shelves carved from what looked to be very expensive wood.

"Engineerin' manuals," Locke said, "It may not look it, but yer currently standin' in one of the biggest research facilities in t'world."

"You're right; it doesn't look it," I said. I _had_ been to the MagiTek Research Facility in Vector, on the odd occasion that Professor Chere had wanted to test something that couldn't be done at Wareydon – and I had to say, I was having trouble working out how _any _research could be done in a place with no machines and with carpeting so thick you were perpetually at risk of falling over, "Whole place is a damn fire hazard. Put a match to this place and it'll go up like a fireworks factory."

"Actually," the major-domo said officiously, "All the carpets in Castle Figaro are fully compliant with recent fire safety legislation, and the castle itself is outfitted with the latest fire safety equipment."

"See, Firma?" Locke nudged me once again, "Nothin' ter worry about!"

"Indeed," Lamont said. We trailed him again in silence down to the end of a particularly _long_ corridor where two rather ceremonial guards stood to attention. Certainly, I thought, no _actual_ guard would be caught dead in such a gaudy red-and-green outfit, but at the same time those guns of theirs _did_ look well-maintained and, hilarious costumes or not, the men still had a rather chilling air about them. These two obviously hadn't been picked for their ability to interact with people, but rather, I suspected, for their ability to put very large holes in people with relatively little provocation and without any regret.

They stared at me. Then, a moment later, their gaze shifted ever so slightly to the attaché case that I was, for one reason or another, still carrying around. I gave them my best, most harmless smile and drew it up to cover my chest, just in case it had magical bulletproof qualities.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure you recognise Mr. Cole," the major-domo said curtly, "His companion is Mage Knight Branford. Both are expected by His Royal Majesty."

There was a long pause and then, to my immense surprise, one of them took out a long sheet of paper that could only have been a list. There was a rustle as this list was examined by the guards and both Locke and I were subjected to intense scrutiny while, I guessed, the guards attempted to determine whether or not we were who we said we were.

"_You know, I've never seen anyone actually _think_ at the speed of continental drift,"_ I muttered impatiently to my mate, _"How hard can this _be?_"_

"_The King's Guard is an ancient and honourable post,"_ Locke replied, with maybe a hint of sarcasm.

"_What, another one?"_ I shook my head.

"_Most things around here're ancient and honourable,"_ Locke shrugged, _"Well...ancient, maybe."_

"_If they don't hurry it up_ I'm_ going to be an entrant in that category!"_ I gave a frustrated hiss, but was quickly calmed by Locke.

"_'Just calm down, Firma," _he said soothingly, _"These people aren't hired to be quick. They're hired to be slow, methodical, and, if it comes to it, lethal little fu- ah, here we go."_

One of the guards had nodded to the other. He nodded back in return, and then they both turned and nodded to the major-domo.

"The King will see you now, I am sure," Lamont said, turning to face us, "However, you will have to leave that case outside. It will be returned to you after you leave."

"Fine by me," I said cheerfully, and placed it carefully on the ground next to one of the guards, "Take good care of that, please."

The guard looked at me. He didn't look particularly impressed, but turned away and pushed open the large, golden door. It swung back silently on oiled hinges, and I craned my neck to see what was inside.

"Thankin' you," Locke said, brushing between the guards and into the room beyond. I gave the guards an apologetic glance and followed suit.

Once inside, I was struck almost immediately by how _plain_ the room was. Sure, all the furniture _looked_ expensive, but, like the private parts of Setzer's airship, it was far more tasteful display of wealth than the green-and-red barrage that was going on out in the public places. It was pretty clear to me that anyone who had reached this point was the sort of person who was probably on serious business and, therefore, unlikely to be mesmerised by pretty colours and the light glinting off the gold.

I had never seen any room quite like this one before, but I could immediately tell that it was the sort of place where high-powered deals were brokered and negotiated. For a start, the large projection screen at the far end of the room showed a map of the world with, I noticed, each of the different powers outlined in a different colour. The rest of the room was pretty much taken up by an enormous wooden table, with large, plush looking chairs set at regular intervals along its lengths.

"Comfy," I remarked, as Locke quietly closed the door behind us.

A chuckle floated from the far end of the table, "If only they were as comfortable as they looked. I've asked Lamont to replace them with more...functional chairs time and time again, but he maintains that the look of the thing is the most important part."

"Is he right?" I raised my eyebrows and turned to regard the man. There was a short pause while my brain worked out who I was addressing, and then I blurted out a very quick, "Uh, your Majesty."

Everyone reading this has no doubt seen King Edgar, in much the way that they've probably seen just about everyone else we've met in some form or another. For those of you living out in the boondocks and using this as toilet paper, however, I suppose I should have a go at it myself. Incidentally, I hope you get a rash.

King Edgar Roni Figaro the Somethingth is...well, I'd say he's the sort of guy whom all the girls swoon over, but I'm not _entirely_ sure that's the case. I mean, sure, the lucky bastard's certainly got the looks – in a kind of broad-shouldered, chiselled jaw, excuse-me-while-I-takes-a-cold-shower kind of way, and he _certainly_ has the cash, in the sense that he technically owns the Royal Reserve. However, the guy _is_ a totally incorrigible flirt, and unfortunately what we're talking about here is the kind of flirting that has the tact and delicacy of a five megaton warhead. In short; if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and has two X chromosomes our good king will be all over it like iron filings on a magnet. That's not, uh, to say, that he's into fowl play of any sort, but...um...you know, this is the point where I really, _really_ wish that I hadn't given all my correction fluid to my fiancée. Anyway, I'm sure you get the point.

In the interests of protecting myself against a libel case, I should probably note that this guy is probably the single most devoted servant of the Kingdom of Figaro out of any of us. He's genuinely interested in the problems of his people and tends to go to great aims to invent things that'll alleviate them (with...varying degrees of success). The guy's a consummate diplomat too, and, on the odd time that we can stop him chasing skirts or developing lethal household appliances, he has sat down and brokered some of the most important treaties our young world has ever seen.

I hope that's enough. Why, oh why, did I have to use that duck analogy? Balls.

"Why don't you sit down and find out?" he chuckled again, and nodded to our mutual friend, "It's good to see you again, Locke."

"Likewise," Locke jerked his head at door, "Your guards are getting more obtrusive by the minute, y'know."

"It's a sign of the times, my friend. The major-domo nearly had a conniption when I told him that we'd be receiving our young Vectoran friend here...and speaking of whom, I don't believe I've properly introduced myself," with this, he extended a hand, "King Edgar Figaro."

"Um..." I took his hand and shook it, "Uh...Firmament Branford, Mage Knight. M-my friends call me Firma, Your Majesty."

"I would be honoured to be included in that group, Firma," his eyes twinkled, and I was forced to admit that I was up against a _proper_ silver tongued bastard here, "...but please, let's not stand on ceremony. For now, just call me Edgar."

"Um...okay...but...-"

"Edgar, we've got a problem," Locke said brusquely, "Y'know Mick? He's done a bit of work for you in the past."

"That name doesn't ring a bell," Edgar gently disengaged his hand from mine, "What's the problem?"

"Well, he's dead," Locke replied, "I suppose that's not the _actual_ problem, though. Look, Imperial Intelligence is really, _really_ starting to throw its weight around on this continent. Just before Firma turned up in South Figaro they started offering about a million gil to any man who could take him down or bring him in. 'Course," he snorted, "It didn't take most of your little helpers to work out where the _real_ money was."

"You were attacked?" to my mind, Edgar didn't sound particularly surprised.

"Two – no, three times; we were assaulted on the train, too," Locke looked over at me, "Firma here's done a bang-up job of keeping us safe, though. You ever heard of a guy called Fendon?"

"I've heard of him, yes," Edgar said, "He's..."

"A sodding nutter, yeah," Locke nodded, "He's dead."

"Really? My my...wait-" I suddenly found myself the subject of a regally appraising stare, "Are you saying that _Firma_ here-"

"Yes – well, no," Locke wavered for a moment, "You know Ursula Asaline?"

"Unfortunately," Edgar's lips quirked slightly, "Is she dead too?"

"What? No! She kinda burst in and saved our lives. Her and her men, anyway -but Firma here saved _my_ life!" Locke added quickly, quailing under my rapidly cooling stare.

"Yes. I noticed the stain..." Edgar's gaze lingered on it for just a moment, but then I was quite suddenly the centre of attention, "Still, you're here now and that's what matters! Now, I understand that you've been having some family issues..."

"I suppose you could put it like that, sir," I replied coolly.

"Edgar, please," he replied absently, "Yes, our intelligence service-"

"_-such as it is,"_ Locke muttered.

"-has been keeping tabs on the whereabouts of your sister," Edgar gave Locke a sharp look, but continued nonetheless, "She's in good health, Firma...but you don't have long in which to act, apparently."

I blinked, "I'm sorry?"

"Not long ago we received an encrypted telegram. It was one of my father's old ciphers, but...anyway," he coughed, and produced a piece of paper from his pocket with a small flourish, "I kept a copy of it for you – here, take a look."

I frowned, but scanned quickly over the note nonetheless.

_FAO: King Edgar_

_Sparky delayed, but en route._

_Numerous interdiction attempts by double-I._

_Must be redeployed to Narshe immediately._

_Firebrand ahead of schedule._

_Sparky must not enter mines U.A.C._

"Your thoughts?" Edgar said, "It seems pretty clear-cut to me, but I don't know if you have any input."

"Double-I? U.A.C?" I frowned, "Wait, I get the first one-"

"-Imperial Intelligence," Locke shrugged, "Most people know that."

"...but U.A.C?" I exchanged a look with Edgar whilst wondering exactly _who_ Locke defined as 'most people', "Uh...United...Aerospac-"

"Under Any Circumstances," Edgar replied smoothly, "Its shorthand; after all, this _is_ a telegram."

"Well, in that case..." I quickly rescanned the note and looked up, "You were meant to give this to me, I think."

"Really?" Edgar took the telegram back for another look, but I could already see Locke nodding out of the corner of my eye, "What makes you think so?"

"The sender used 'Sparky' and 'Firebrand'. It's not like those are _difficult_ code-names to work out, and 'Firma' and 'Terra' are much, much shorter," I scowled, "Actually, they're not even code-names; they're nicknames - bloody _awful_ ones. Oh, man," I ran my fingers tiredly through my hair, "I think I'm beginning to see a pattern here–"

"-from one telegram?"

"Oh, I had a letter before," I added, "It's a bit hard to say why, but I got the feeling that the writer and me...knew each other. I think this one's by the same guy."

"Interesting," Edgar rubbed his chin thoughfully, "Not everyone's guardian angel takes time to send them telegraphs."

"Not everyone has the week I'm having," I said pointedly, "Still, that telegram's probably not wrong. We should get going as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow," Locke said firmly, "You're plainly exhausted."

"No I'm no-!"

"It would be best if you departed tomorrow, Firma," Edgar cut in smoothly, "You'll have one chance to save your sister. If you fail...well, we're all in trouble."

"Don't remind me," I said darkly.

"Besides, have you given any thought to how you're going to rescue her?"

"Are you kidding?" I laughed weakly, "I'm still trying to work out how I'm going to survive ten seconds against those bloody Titans!"

"Well, maybe you should allow _us_ to help," for just a moment, the king's slight smile turned distinctly nasty, "We've analysed their designs, and there's a weakness that I rather doubt they've considered."

"Really?" I said, impressed, "That was fast."

"I don't think that the Empire really_ understands_ what its built," Edgar spread his hands, "Still, it makes _my_ job easier, so I shouldn't complain. Now-" I got the feeling that my future had been decided, "As I suspected you would so intelligently decide to remain here overnight, I have set aside some secure guest rooms for you and I'm _sure_ that the kitchen staff can be pressed to provide some food. I suggest you get as much sleep as you possibly can, both of you. Tomorrow is likely to be quite a rough day."

"Thanks, mate," Locke turned away, "See you in the mornin-"

"Wait, Locke," I said quickly, and turned back to the king, "Um...can I ask you a favour?"

Edgar's eyebrows rose, "...and what would that be, my friend?"

"Um..." I decided it was now or never, "I'd like all the information you have on the Mage Knights. _All_ of it."

"That's a tall order, Firma," Edgar's smile broadened slightly, "As I seem to recall, a lot of the documentation that you would be interested in is classified. Why should we divulge that to a citizen of a hostile Empire?"

"Because _this_ citizen is trying to stop a war that hasn't happened yet," I replied stonily, "If I get cooked because there was a trick I could've used but didn't then your kingdom is going to end up being a...uh..."

"Puppet state," Locke supplied helpfully.

"Thank you," I smiled brightly at Edgar, "On the _bright_ side, though, immigration would be a breeze. What's the typical rent in South Fig-"

"Okay, Firma; you've made your point," Edgar chuckled, "I'll have my intelligence chief send the files to your room. In any case, both of you..."

"Yeah, I know," Locke said, and dragged me off towards the door, "Good seein' you again, Edgar. We need to do this more often."

A laugh floated across the room, "Gods, I hope not."

A little while later, I was forced, somewhat grudgingly, to give Edgar at least _some_ credit. Yes, he was a smooth-talking bastard who seemed to positively delight in not quite giving me _all_ the information, but when he said 'secure' he really,_ really_ meant it. Lamont led us at a brisk walk down into the bowels of the castle, or at least far enough down that the diplomatically plush carpeting had given way to that rather 'orrible, natty stuff that tended to crop up in office buildings and cheap hotels.

"Now _this_ looks more like an engineering department," I said approvingly, "Gotta ask, though; why on earth are the libraries kept so far from where anyone's likely to do any work?"

"Those libraries, Mage Knight, are a _historical_ collection of developments created by the Kingdom of Figaro," Lamont said irritably. For some reason, he seemed to be in a bad mood, "I assure you, more up to date information is available at point-of-use for our development teams."

"No doubt," I said cheerfully, "I don't suppose that you happen to know what the King is knocking together for-"

"Mage Knight!" Lamont snapped, "I am _not_ privy to information from downstairs - and even if I were I would not be so unwise as to share it with someone who has absolutely no clearance within the Kingdom of Figaro!"

"If it helps, I don't have any clearance within the Empire..." I muttered, momentarily cowed by his sudden outburst. To me, at least, it seemed that this guy thought that leading us around was beneath his station, and I decided, for once, not to aggravate matters by seeing how far I could push him. As a result, we ended up walking in incredibly awkward silence down corridor after identical corridor until, finally, Lamont came to a halt directly in front of a door that, to me, looked identical to any other.

"This is your room," he said curtly, and produced a small piece of white plastic from the recesses of his uniform, "You'll need this swipe card to get in. Don't lose it."

"You'd better take that, Locke," I said, and carefully clasped my hands behind my back, "Magnetic strips and me don't...get along."

"Fine, pal," Locke shook his head dismissively and relieved the major-domo of the offending article, "I guess we'll be seein' yer around then, Lamont!"

"Indeed," Lamont replied, clearly relieved that his job was done and dusted, "I will alert the kitchens to prepare some dinner for you shortly. Good evening to the both of you."

With that, and a dramatic flick of his cape, he turned and walked quickly off down the corridor. Locke watched him go with a somewhat rueful grin.

"Pompous little shite, isn't he," he grinned, "Anyway, let's get ourselves settled in, shall we?"

I hadn't been expecting much of the rooms on the other side of that door, and by and large I got what I expected. The 'secure quarters', such as they were, consisted of a central room containing a desk and a couple of chairs, while two doors led to small en-suite rooms containing simple, but very comfortable beds. There was very little in the way of decoration, too; the central room had a single, dull painting of a vase of flowers hanging on the far wall...and that was it.

"I guess people who need to use these facilities don't tend to care much about interior design," I remarked, closing the door behind me.

"'Course not," Locke replied, "Still, you'd be surprised at some of the people who've stayed in these sort of quarters. There are a lot of people who owe their lives to having a place like this to stay when the heavies came calling."

"Oh, yeah?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yeah," Locke considered this, "And some criminals, actually; mainly the sort that send up their fellow criminals for a shorter sentence, y'know."

"Vaguely," I nodded, and flopped down on one of the chairs, "Well, what do we do now?"

"Wait," Locke said, "If I were you, I'd get some sleep."

"I haven't eaten anything in at least a day, and probably longer," I pointed out, "I _need_ food – and I want to take a look at those intelligence reports."

"You really think you're going to learn anything from them?" Locke shook his head, "Edgar's not going to give you the full reports. I like the man, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to believe _every_ damn word he says; remember, he's a politician. He's acting all chummy with you because you need one another's help, not because he likes taking vagrants off the street."

"Huh," I leaned back, "I suppose you're probabl-"

There was a subtle 'bip' from the door, and as we turned to watch it slowly swung outwards to reveal a tall, lanky looking man with a mop of grey-brown hair and sharp features. He was wearing a strange, blue-grey uniform that I didn't recognise, and in his hands he was holding a large sheaf of brown folders.

"Figaro Intelligence?" I asked, quickly killing the charge that had been forming in the palm of my hand.

"As requested," he said in a strangely distant tone, "Colonel Ester, at your service. I know Mr. Cole-" he nodded quickly at Locke, "-and I can only assume that you are MK2."

"Good guess," I said dryly, "What gave it away?"

He was, at least, smart enough to ignore that one, "I have here relevant data pertaining to the Mage Knights; King Edgar requested that you be allowed to look through it."

"Thank you," I said, taking the folders out of his grasp.

"At some point we will need to meet," the Colonel continued, "There's a lot that-"

"The kid's tired, Ester," Locke said brusquely, "Leave him alone. You'll have plenty of time to catch up with him when we get back from Narshe."

"Oh – of course," Ester replied, "Well, good day to you."

"Yeah," Locke replied. Before I could stop him, he was on his feet and already moving to close the door, "See you later."

The door shut with a click, but Locke placed his fingers to his lips while he listened to what was going on on the other side. Finally, he seemed to be convinced that all was well and sat back down in one of the chairs.

"Watch yourself around him, Firma," he said warningly, "He's a strange one, and he seems to have an unholy fascination with all this Mage Knight malarkey. If he tries to get you on your own, come and find me."

"Thanks for the heads-up," I said, and placed the folders on the desk with a rather satisfying 'thud', "Right, let's take a shufti at these, then."

"What're we looking for?" Locke said, taking the topmost folder and flicking it open.

"Anything that leaps out at you, I guess," I shrugged, "Anything, uh, unusual."

The evening passed slowly as we busied ourselves with the documents Colonel Ester had delivered, and once the initial excitement of reading documents labelled 'classified' had faded I was forced to admit that was I was doing was, basically, looking over a series of reports that Figaro Intelligence had probably bribed some silly clerk somewhere a bloody pittance to photocopy. As far as I could tell, ninety percent of these damn folders were things I probably could've obtained from the IAF Wareydon archives if I had been so inclined, but I kept searching, hoping that somewhere amongst all this boring, redundant rubbish was a proper gem that might give me some insight into my own history.

"I have to admit," Locke said, for the nth time, "Your sister's definitely got the looks in your family."

"Would you please stop saying that?," I replied acidly, "You're weirding me out."

"Mind you, she didn't get them as much as _this _one..." Locke whistled under his breath, "Is _this_ General Chere? She's a firecracker!"

"What?" I looked at the file, "Yeah, she's a model general."

Locke gave me a curious look, "Is that meant to mean..."

"Yeah, Locke, she's a general and she could be a model," I smirked, "Of course, she's _also_ an example that 'women can make it in the Imperial Army!' _and_ she's a damn good soldier to boot, so it actually works on three levels."

"I see," he paused for a moment, "Clever."

"Don't you _dare_ tell Celes I said that, though," I added, "I'll never bloody hear the end of it."

There was a long, long silence, then;

"What in the _world_ are you doing in this photo?"

"What photo?" I craned to see, "Oh, _that_ photo. Uh..."

"It looks like you've been dragged backwards through an electrified hedge, mate," he laughed, "Oh my gods, Firma, are you _gardeni_-"

"Look, would you stop dredging up bits and pieces of my past and start looking for relevant information?" I snapped, and tossed aside yet another totally irrelevant report, "And besides, its' not gardening, its horticulture! There's a world of difference!"

"Really?"

"Yes!" I shook my head, "Look; try things like hometowns or...I don't know anything other than those photos!"

"I thought I saw some birthdates here," he said, leafing quickly back through the stack of papers, "It's got you and your sister down as...Midwinter's Day?"

"That's the traditional date for orphans in the Imperial Army," I shook my head, "It's not really relevant."

"General Chere is down as the tenth of March," he continued, "Is she-"

"Adopted," I shrugged, "By Professor Chere."

"Ah," Locke quickly scanned down another set of papers, "Well, I've got some hometowns here...let's see, Vector...Vector..."

"Terra...me," I gritted my teeth, "Godsdamnit! I was hoping that they'd have more info!"

"Yeah, you don't _look_ like you're from Vector," Locke looked up quickly, but then returned to his paper, "Albrook-"

"That's Celes."

"-Thamasa...Vect-"

"Wait, what?" I gave a sudden start, "What was that last one?"

"Thamasa?" Locke gave me a puzzled look, "Let's see; it's got a reference number here. One moment..."

I sat back and watched carefully as my friend pulled out another folder and quickly looked through the header page.

"Here we go," he said, "'Ellsinore Ava Magus', from Thamasa."

"Ellsinore," I mused, "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time."

"No MK reference here, either," he read down, and smiled, "She's a cute little girl, though."

"Mmm..."

"Lots of pictures of _you_ in here, too," Locke smirked, "You made a cute kid, too...hey, Firma, you didn't say you had a girlfriend!"

"I don't," I snorted, "Unless, of course, you're about to insinuate that I'm a necrophile."

"She's dead?" Locke blinked and looked back up the page.

"Yeah. Six years ago," I nodded, "Some blood-borne infection of some sort took her out. Wasn't a damn thing either I or the medics could do about it."

"Ah, I'm sorry mate," Locke carefully closed the folder and put it down, "I didn't mea-"

"What're you sorry for?" I frowned, "Besides, it was _six_ years ago. Eventually you've gotta move on, y'know."

"I suppose," for some reason, the temperature of the room seemed to cool ever so slightly, "Is, uh, is that why you became a Sentinel?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, me and some mates...we've got this bet going," Locke leaned in, "Y'see, I reckon that your average Sentinel _becomes_ a Sentinel because of some tragic event in his or her past – y'know, a loved one copping for it when they were a kid, or-"

"You read too much trash fiction, Locke," I said bluntly, "I was still a Wraith when Elli died. I didn't actually switch courses until...ooh, two years ago. Look, d'ya want to know the _actual_ reason why I became a Sentinel?"

"Go on."

"It's because I found something I was better at than Terra," I said, "You know how twins are always being compared to each another, right?"

"Well...yeah."

"Well, it was even worse for us. _Neither_ of us could go five minutes without having someone say 'Oh, but _Terra_ managed that course in five minutes!' or 'Looks like _Terra_ scored two percent higher than you in mechanics!'. I must've spent about sixteen years living in her shadow. But then...well, there's at least one area where I'm better than she is."

"Really?"

"She can't heal people very well," I said, "I mean, we're all different, but it would've knackered her getting Fendon's bullet out of you. Changing over to the Sentinel course meant that we _finally _got enough space between us that people started to back off on the comparisons and meant that I could also make a name for myself. It sounds pathetic, but it's true."

"It's not _that_ pathetic," Locke grinned, "If I was in your place, I probably would've gone nuts. At the very least I would've ended up trying to punch her out."

"I think _all_ siblings fight, though," I said, "She's got a _mean_ left hook, too – but anyway, don't you _dare_ tell her I said that. She still believes I became a Sentinel because of Elli."

"She reads a lot of trash fiction, then?"

"You have _no_ bloody idea."

Locke looked down, "Hey, uh, Firma? Have you ever heard of MK6?"

"I'm sorry – what?" I leaned over, "I don't suppose you've got a picture there, do you?"

"No, no picture – in fact, nothing, really. All it states is 'first sighted eighth of May nine ninety five'. You know anything more?"

"She's the postmaster for the person who sent us those telegrams," I smiled, "Oh, and she moonlights as Kefka's henchwoman, too. Don't know anything more about her than that, I'm afraid."

"Well, if she catches up with you again make sure to ask her," Locke yawned and stretched, "I don't think any of this has what you were looking for, to be honest."

"No. I suppose not," I said eventually, "Damnit, I was really hoping for something more! Edgar'd better not be keeping something vital from me."

"He's a smart king, y'know," Locke said reassuringly, "If there's a reason for him hiding something, it'll be a _good_ reason. He's not the sort to do stuff just 'cause he feels like it."

"Fine, fine, I'll believe you," I said, "Now, where's our bloody dinner? I'm getting hungry."

"I don't know about you, but I think I can wait," Locke smirked devilishly, "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to see what _other_ pictures of you I can find in here. If everything goes sour, I'd like to have at least _some_ dirt on you, y'know."


	18. Chapter 17: Snowed Under: Part One

**Chapter 17 – Snowed Under, Part One**

Gods_damnit_! Gods-sodding-damnit! I was this close – _this_ bloody close to being able to close the book on this whole thing once and for all...but _noooo_, _somebody_ had to overstep the mark, didn't they? I'm too annoyed to go into details here, so let's just say that my darling sister will be the first against the wall when the revolution comes, and if I have anything to do with it that damn wall will be papered with the flesh of her sweet adoptive children. You get that, Tee? I'm _coming for_ _you_.

In other news, I'm pretty sure that there's at least one quite ludicrously lonely person somewhere out there who's currently creating a careful timeline of events to date with really quite disturbing attention to detail. Personally, I bet he's pissed that I missed out an exciting dinner scene wherein me and Locke stared awkwardly at each other over a plate of finely grilled salmon, but you know what? Too bad. It might do some people good to remember that this _isn't_ meant to be some self-aggrandising retelling of events wherein I run around solving everyone's problems while they all stand around and admire my stupidly overstated physical attributes. Yes, I know that it may seem like that from time to time, but that's 'cause I'm claiming writer's prerogative; if I'm the one who has to sneak ink ribbons out of work then I'm damn well going to twist history to my advantage. It's not like I ever pretended to be _fair_.

There are, however, at least a _couple_ of people who are even more important to this whole palaver than I, and chief amongst them (for reasons that will become clear later) is Elli. Thinking about it, it doesn't really seem right for me to introduce my closest childhood friend before going 'Welp, she's dead!' and saying nothing more on the matter. It's not really fair to you – but to be honest I don't really give a monkey's about that. What I _do _give a monkey's about is how unfair it is to her, so we're going to correct that here and now. Just stick with me and I promise that this will all make sense somewhere down the line.

I first crossed paths with Ellsinore way back when I was but a mere stripling living in the magical world of whimsy that was the Central Vector Imperial Orphanage. To be frank, I wasn't really aware of the circumstances surrounding her arrival - all I knew was that one day she wasn't there, and then suddenly, quite suddenly, we were graced by the presence of this fiery girl with a glint in her eye and boundless energy. I, for one, found her absolutely _fascinating_ – not only did her enthusiasm stand out amongst the other inmates (who, to be honest, should probably have been on lithium drips) but she also, surprisingly, had a presence on the magical airwaves. It's a little hard to describe, but let's just say that as far as I was concerned this girl _glowed_ when she moved.

For several reasons, this girl was quickly deemed an outcast by the oh-so-exciting members of Team Boring who made up the grand majority of the kiddies in the CVIO. One of them was the fact that she was physically unable to move (or talk, for that matter) at speeds below about mach one. The other was her heritage; as she was from a magical, faraway place she understandably spoke no Vectoran and looked kind of different. For a start, she had darker, tan skin, and instead of brown or blonde hair hers was jet black, shot through with a strange sprinkling of white. As far as the other kids were concerned, these were capital crimes - but luckily for poor Elli there were two _other_ kids who looked rather different and _also_ spoke almost no Vectoran...with the added bonus that one of them was already utterly taken with her, in that sickeningly cute kiddy way. Not surprisingly, we ended up as a trio.

The best bit about all of this was, well – we _worked_. For whatever reason, Elli and I seemed to be on the same wavelength. Sure, we ended up landing ourselves in a whole heap of trouble on a regular basis but in her I found a totally non-judgemental confidant, and in me she found someone who _didn't_ rip the piss out of her for her love of art and who was, indeed, willing to find hidey-holes for her handiwork when it came time for room inspections. Terra didn't exactly approve of our shenanigans, but, honestly, I simply didn't care.

We all know how this story ends, though. In the summer of nine ninety-two, Elli quite suddenly started feeling unwell. I hadn't the foggiest idea what was wrong with her, but it was apparently severe enough that the base surgeon had her quickly transferred to a specialist unit up in Vector proper. Unfortunately, they didn't have the foggiest idea what was wrong with her _either,_ and she ended up passing away a mere twelve hours after her illness developed.

I'm going to leave it there, I'm afraid. I don't really want to recount the effect Elli's had on _me_ personally, because that'd be retreading ground that I'd rather not think about. I'd like to give a special commendation to both Celes and my sister at this point; if it weren't for their rather schizophrenic good-cop bad-cop routine I probably would have come apart at the seams, so thanks, guys. I'd buy you both beers, but I've just remembered that Celes still owes me for those rounds last Friday – so you'l all just have to wait until the books're balanced. Sorry, Tee.

In any case, it's good to give you guys some context and to get that off my chest. I've got one of fiancée's art exhibitions now, so I'll come back to this after I've been pinned to the wall and asked tricksy art questions by some guy with a name like Lord Furtheringly-worth and eight chins. I hope like hell that there's an open bar, 'cause otherwise my dear amour is going to end up being bankrupted...

Despite the comfortable furnishings I had a pretty poor night of it. The thought that today, probably, was the day that I was to go toe to toe against my enslaved sister and three Titans didn't exactly do much to help me sleep, but finally, and with the aid of some calming breathing exercises, I managed to drop off at about two in the morning.

Predictably, no sooner had my head hit the pillow than I heard a heavy thudding at my door, and a cry of 'Wake up, Firma! Wake up!'. A moment later the beleaguered thing burst open, revealing a silhouette outlined by blindingly bright light.

"Whassit?" I asked blearily, desperately trying to make sense of events, "Whass goin' on?"

"It's your sister, pal," the silhouette said, revealing itself to be Locke, "And it looks like Figaro Intelligence got caught napping."

"What? My sister?" I paused for a second to let my brain get itself into gear, "Right. I'm up – what's happening?"

"No time for that, pal," Locke replied, and aimed one of my boots at me with quite surprising accuracy, "Get your kit on and let's get moving! Edgar wants to see us!"

Fortunately, years of random late-night drills had made me a world expert in high-speed dressing, and Locke's urgent tones had triggered those parts of my brain that normally responded only to rabid sergeants. Barely thirty seconds after he had battered down my door I was up, alert, and fully dressed. Sure, I looked like I had been dragged backwards through an electric fence, but I got nothing but a faintly surprised look from Locke as I hopped sideways out of my room while putting the finishing touches on my left shoelace.

"That was quick," he shrugged, and indicated the tall, friendly-looking man standing beside him, "Anyway, Firma – meet Samson. This guy's volunteered to fly us to Narshe, but Edg-"

"Great – pleased to meet you, Samson," I gave the man's garb a quick look and wondered which particular outfit this man belonged to, "Sorry to be so abrupt, but can we get moving? If there's a screwup involving Terra, then I want to know what it is."

Our new friend Samson led us at a brisk jog through a series of excessively gaudy corridors, and after a couple of minutes of hurried movement we finally came to a halt outside a door that, according to my limited grasp of Figaran cursive, was an 'Operations Centre'. I exchanged a quick look with Locke, but without further ado Samson pushed the door open and wandered inside. For just a moment I hesitated, uncertain as to whether I should be following him – but a quick prod from Locke quickly settled that, and so, with my head held high, I strode purposefully into the operations room.

The first thing I thought when I looked around was 'well, this is a big bloody letdown'. My own personal experiences with places with such audacious names were the IAF's own Fighter Command and...well, actually, that was it – but even so, I was used to the idea of people running around with great big stacks of paper while other people moved small wooden planes around a scale model of the Southern Continent. If I didn't know any better (and to be quite honest, I _didn't_) this room looked more to me like a bloody call centre than a _proper_ operations room. Admittedly, the men and women staffing the phone lines had a rather more intent look about them than the average call-centre worker, and there _was_ a rather large (albeit blank) screen at the far end of the room, but as far as I was concerned, it just didn't measure up. Still, it had one thing that the IAF operations room never had...

"Good morning," Edgar said, greeting us with a quick nod, "We don't have much time, so I'll be brief. Firma, it appears that our intelligence regarding your sister was...mistaken."

"So I heard," I stated, "What do-"

"Approximately twenty minutes ago, a distress message was broadcast from Narshe indicating that they were under attack from three 'overwhelmingly powerful' assailants. We were under the impression that we had a day to get you to the city, but in the light of this our plans have changed."

"Oh?" I said, and felt an uneasy prickling on the back of my neck, "How?"

"As a long-standing ally of Narshe, I am treaty-bound to send troops to defend their city in the event of an attack. Fortunately for you our closest base is...some distance away over rough terrain. They'll respond, certainly, but it will take some time for their armour to reach the city."

"So," Locke interjected, "If we want to save Terra, we'll have to act now."

"Exactly," Edgar shrugged, "Sentinel Samson has volunteered to fly you to Narshe and back again, once you have recovered your sister. As for dealing with the Titans...well, we've just finished developing _these_."

With a rather impressive flourish, the King produced a bandolier carrying a set of small silvery globes.

"Having analysed the blueprints of the Empire's Magitek weapon systems, we've discovered that there are a number of rather...curious oddities that are not characteristic of Vectoran design. For some reason, all Golems and Titans possess a circuit that, as far as we can determine, has no actual function, but if it experiences a suitably powerful electrical pulse it will temporarily shut off all Magitek functions – effectively disabling the machine," carefully, Edgar selected one of the little globes and gave it to me. It was surprisingly heavy, and caught the light in ways that I found faintly unnerving, "These grenades are designed to do just that."

"Really?" Locke took the grenade and gave it a rather strange look, "How'd they work, then?"

Edgar retrieved the small sphere and held it up for inspection, "Firstly, arm them by squeezing the top and bottom plates - here and _here_. At that point you'll have five seconds to throw it onto your target – they're magnetic, Locke," he added quickly, "So they should stick to any ferrous surface. If you are successful, you'll have about fifteen seconds to disable the pilot before the Titan comes back online."

"Sounds like a dangerous job," Locke's eyes hadn't left the grenade, and I made a mental note to ask him about them later.

"You'll be well compensated, Locke," Edgar assured him, "I suspect our Mage Knight friends will be very important in these coming days."

"Okay, okay," Locke sighed, "So...we need to disable the Titans and Terra's handlers without being killed ourselves. That sounds simple enough."

"Should be a picnic," I rolled my eyes, "Still, standing around here won't get us anything. We'd best be on our way."

"Remember, you don't have long," Edgar warned, "If you take too long, those Titans will be destroyed by Figaran forces. We've been training for this for a long time," his expression, if I was any judge, became slightly sympathetic, "Good luck. Take care of yourselves."

Our new Sentinel friend led us at a quick march back up through the castle to the helipad. Surprisingly, the dinky little helicopter I had landed there yesterday had been removed, but in its place was a much larger, far sturdier beast that was blatantly designed for much heavier operations. For a start there were two rotors, both necessary to provide the enormous amounts of lift needed to keep this chopper and its extensive armour plating in the sky. Through the open door I could see large stacks of neatly coiled equipment that looked suspiciously as if it had been lifted from a military surplus store. Despite that, however, it was clear that this absolutely _wasn't_ a military vehicle - the fuselage was painted a brilliant white, indicating that this chopper was almost certainly part of the Silver Sentinels' Airborne Emergency Response Team.

"No armaments," Locke commented, "Isn't that-"

"It's a Silver Sentinel helicopter, Locke," I pointed out, "No weaponry, remember?"

"Actually, this'd normally be armed," Samson said quickly, "S'just coincidence that it's not."

"Oh, right - yeah," I thought of my pistol, still snug in its little attaché case, "I forgot it's all different up here..."

"Yeah," the Sentinel replied, carefully, "Well – on you get! We ain't got time to talk about our differences now."

"I suppose we can save that totally fascinating conversation for another time, eh?" I raised my eyebrows, and Samson grinned, "Yeah, I thought so."

It took Locke and I barely a moment to hop in through the open door and secure ourselves amongst the heavy equipment, and there was a 'cla-click' as Samson pulled open the cockpit door and climbed aboard. A low thrumming noise picked up above us, and slowly grew in pitch and intensity as the enormous blades atop the helicopter span into action. My stomach lurched momentarily as the chopper surged skyward, and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Locke's face pale ever so slightly.

Eventually, Samson managed to wrestle the aircraft into some semblance of level, calm flight, and with a small sigh of relief I released my white-knuckle grip on the safety harness.

"Well, I suppose we're on our way!" I said brightly, but then I realised that Locke had turned that rather virulent shade of green normally reserved for hospital corridors, "Hey, Locke – you okay?"

"Nnnn...never better," Locke gulped, and felt it necessary to follow it up with, "...I'll be okay if I...jus' look at the horizon..."

"You suffer from motion sickness?" I raised my eyebrows, "That's just _wonderful_. Why now? Why didn't you have an attack when_ I_ was flying the chopper?"

"'Cause I'm tired an' I'm stressed, Firma," he replied bluntly, and twisted around to look out of one of the little portholes, "Otherwise I'd be fine."

"If it helps, you're not the only one," I sighed, and then my gaze fell upon one of the little silver globes that Edgar had given us, "Oh, that reminds me – what's so strange about these grenades, Locke? I noticed you were giving them a funny look before."

"I give lots of things funny looks, Firma," Locke said distantly, "Doesn't mean that there's anything _significant _about them- oh, _gods_..."

"It was a pretty significant funny look, buster," I replied, raising my voice above the impressive display of retching, "My word – it's a good thing we didn't have time for breakfast, isn't it."

"Shut up."

"Mind you, I could really use some stodge right about now," I leaned back and thought, fleetingly, of the only half-decent breakfast the Imperial Canteens ever made, "Y'know, some nice greasy bacon...maybe some oily sausa-"

"Are you _trying_ to make me feel i-" Locke was cut short by another bout of dry heaving, then, "Change the damn subject, pal."

"Well...how about these grenades, then? What's so special about them? You _know_ something about these, mate."

"They're not Figaran," Locke said flatly, "There. You happy now?"

"What?" my eyebrows shot straight up, "Hang on a sec - Edgar said that they made them just yester-"

"Oh, I'm sure he put them together, pal," Locke covered his mouth with his hand for just a moment before continuing, "But the original plan _ain't_ Figaran. I mean, take your average Figaran grenade – it's big, black, 'n heavy, right?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Look at these," apparently, Locke wasn't about to let simple motion sickness get in the way of waxing lyrical, "Small, white, and triggered by pressing two hard-to-see plates together? That doesn't sound like Figaran utility, and these certainly don't _look_ like anything that Edgar would make."

"I'll...have take your word on that," I frowned as I tried to remember what else was bothering me, "Oh, yeah – Edgar said something about the Empire not really knowing what they'd built. Do you have any idea what he was going on about?"

"If you want my opinion, it's just sour grapes;" Locke smirked nastily, "The poor guy just doesn't want to admit that the Empire's managed to overtake Figaro so heavily in the last two decades. Mind you-" suddenly, he gave me an oddly incisive look, "-maybe they really _don't_ know what they've built."

"Which means _what_, exactly?"

"Nothing, really," Locke spread his hands, "It's just that there's...a lot of conspiracy theories surrounding the Empire's Magitek projects."

"That doesn't shock me," I snorted, "I'll bite, though; what're the crazed lunatics shouting about _this_ time?"

"Well..." Locke shrugged, "They're saying that the Empire didn't invent Magitechnology – they found it, instead."

"Uh-huh. You got anything to back that up?"

"It wouldn't be a conspiracy theory if they had any _proof_, I suppose," Locke conceded, "But...look at the Empire twenty years ago. It was powerful, sure, but no more so than Figaro. Then suddenly, out of absolutely godsdamn nowhere, your glorious leaders come up with a new form of weaponry that's totally and utterly out there – and that's not even considering-"

"-Terra and me. Okay, I get it," I rolled my eyes, "When you put it like that, it _does_ sound like sour grapes. It's hardly the first time something like this happened, though – I mean, what about Jidoor and their fission bombs? Those came out of bloody nowhere _and_ just in time to stop them from being annexed by the Empire...but you don't hear anyone complaining about _them_, do you?"

"Check your history, Firma," Locke sighed, "_Everyone's_ been trying to make those – Jidoor's just the only country that's worked out how to make them effective. Anyway, they're apparently based on solid science."

"Fine, fine..." I said, and threw up my hands, "So...basically, someone's found a circuit in these Magitek systesm that doesn't do anything that _they_ know about and suddenly everyone's going on about some tripped out series of events? That's just...bloody fantastic, that's what that is!"

"Whoa, Firma – what's gotten you so worked up?" Locke leaned back ever so slightly, "They're just silly conspiracy theories, y'know. It doesn't really mat-"

"No, Locke – it _does_ matter!" I snarled suddenly, "It's...disrespectful, that's what it is! Just because the Empire happens to have something that's better than what everyone else has people cry from the rooftops that it's got to be some kind of goddamn fraud! I _know_ the guy who's in charge of the Magitek project, and he works his fingers to the bloody bone to keep the whole thing afloat! Those fuc-"

I'm, uh, just going to stop that rant before it _really_ gets underway – for the reason that it's utter bollocks. To be frank, I didn't give a damn whether or not people thought the Magitek project wasn't entirely home-grown. I mean, heck, do you really believe that a Titan's flame cannon actually thinks 'By Jove, I'm not based on contemporary peer-reviewed technology!' while it's incinerating a puppy hospital? The answer is, obviously, no, and while Magitek might not be entirely 'fair' it _does_ exist, so stop whining and deal with it.

To be honest the _actual_ reason why I disliked those damn conspiracy theories so much is that, well, I was inextricably linked to the Magitek project. For all I knew, I was simply a by-product of the system that'd been bumped up for propaganda reasons – but at the same time it was entirely possible that I _wasn't_. The fact was that I simply didn't _know_, and having the local street crazy wax lyrical about my origins in a high-pitched, nasal tone was –if I'm being euphemistic- somewhat irritating.

Um...sorry about that, but I feel like it needed to be said. As a special treat, I'll pass over the remainder of that helicopter trip and get right into the action. Heaven knows we're due some.

Several hours passed uneventfully, and I watched with dull disinterest as the ground beneath us shaded from green to brown, and finally a brilliant white dotted here and there with thick, dark pine forests. It looked, to my untrained eye, to be about as boring as possible while being totally inhospitable and I began to wonder what drew people to these dark, frozen corners of the globe.

"It's the money, Firma," Locke, apparently, had worked out how to read minds, "The mountains around here're rich in precious metals, and there's lots of money to be made in the trapping industry. You aren't going to find many well-to-do captains of industry down in Figaro who're willing to catch and skin their own minks."

"I suppose," I gave him a quick look, "Still, it looks-"

"Hey, guys," the radio crackled, "We're coming up on Narshe now. You might want to get ready."

"Right," Locke said. Quickly, he pulled two thick coats from the nearest stack of equipment and passed one over, "How does it look?"

There was a long pause, then, "Not good."

"Care to elaborate?" I asked sharply. It had, I decided, already been a long day.

"It's hard to tell," Samson said, "There's too much smoke."

"Yeah, that's bad," I sighed, and pulled out the little attaché case containing my pistol, "I suppose I should take this with me. Locke – could you pass me one of those white bags over there? 'Might need one of those as well."

"I hope you're not planning on treating the city, pal," Locke said darkly.

"I think that anyone who's been hit by a Titan is beyond my capabilities, _mate_," I stowed the pistol on my hip and grabbed the bag out of his hands, "Terra might be injured."

"Fine; just keep in mind that we're _not_ here to treat the injured," Locke said, suddenly more serious than I had ever seen him, "We've got one job to do, and we're not going to piss away our time treating people who're probably beyond help. Got it?"

I nodded mutely, if only to get out from underneath that deadly stare.

"Good lad," Locke said, "Samson, set us down a little way from the city. I don't want anyone to know that you're here. We may end up having to leave in a hurry, and I don't want to have to deal with any damn squatters."

"Understood," the radio fell silent, and my stomach lurched as Samson brought the helicopter down towards the ground. Tall, icy fingers reared up on both sides as the Sentinel wrestled the lumbering machine into an uncomfortably thin ravine. I gave the unforgiving grey walls a worried look, and turned to Locke to keep my mind off our inevitable demise.

"So...you get crippling motion sickness and I'm scared of heights," I smiled nervously, "Maybe we should get the train next time."

"Shut it, Firma," Locke had, once again, turned a very interesting shade of green, "Jus' let me concentrate on not throwin' up..."

"I wonder if they have stealth trains," I added quickly, "'Course, you'd have the problem that they'd have to run on tracks, and it'd probably be a bit hard to sneak in unannounced if you had to use their train stations...maybe-"

"_Firma."_

"_-maybe­ _they could have some sort of train that lays its own tracks. That way you could go anywhere you'd want to and not have to worry about that sort've thin-"

"_Firma!" _the look Locke shot me was positively venomous, but fortunately any further comments were forestalled by a sudden lurch violent enough to break my grip. Without warning I was pitched forwards into a mercifully soft bag of clothes, and then just as quickly hurled backwards against the side of the cabin. Apparently not content with just throwing me around, the helicopter abruptly dropped several meters and hit the rock-hard floor with enough force to bounce me into the air and drop me on a sack that, from the feel of it, was packed to the brim with rusty pitchforks.

"Ow," I said with finality. That, to my mind, seemed to cover it well enough. I was distantly aware of the sound of the cabin door being slammed open, allowing a blast of buttock-clenchingly cold air to enter the cabin. Stirred back to reality by the freezing wind, I slid painfully off the spiky pack and staggered upright just in time to hear Locke empty his guts, noisily and extensively, on the ground outside.

"Sorry about that," Samson's voice sounded deservedly shaky, "The winds round here can change in an instant."

"So I see," I muttered, and leaned around the side of the cabin door to take a look.

If you ask a random person on the street what they think of when you say 'Narshian countryside', they'll probably rattle off some kind of clichéd image involving soft snowfall and pine forests criss-crossed with the tracks of deer and lovingly cute white rabbits. If they're feeling particularly artistic, then there's probably a house or chocolate-box town off in the middle distance with a welcoming glow coming from its windows. This, it has to be said, is evidence that the Narshian Tourist Board is one of the most masterful bunch of weasel-minded liars in the history of, well, everything, because nothing, bar _nothing_, could be further from the truth.

Simply put, a typical Midwinter's card bears about as much resemblance to the Narshian landscape as a child's playpen to a piranha tank. This is _not_ the sort of winter wonderland where you might find deer or lovely ickle rabbits padding silently through pristine forests – rather, it's the sort of winter wonderland where, if you're very lucky, you'll manage to avoid being either eaten by a bear or smeared across the bedrock by a passing avalanche. There are pine forests, sure, but they're dark, uninviting places where the sun rarely shines. Similarly, there are tall, snow-capped peaks, but while they may look graceful and majestic when viewed from the distance, up close they're just damn great hunks of cracked granite and ice with all the artistic merit of road kill.

I, unlike many people, had the rare fortune to have been warned about this in advance by one of my Sentinel instructors, but I was still disappointed as I looked out across the hostile terrain. On the bright side, I had to admit that Narshe was indeed glowing brightly, although the fact that it was most likely on fire _did_ put something of a damper on the situation.

"No point in waiting around here, Locke," I hopped down from the cabin and slammed the door to behind me before adding, "Hey, it looks like you finally managed to find something to throw up."

"You're going to talk yourself into an early grave, pal," Locke said warningly, "Still, you're right. There's nothing to be gained from stickin' around. You still got your pistol?"

"Yeah," I patted the dark, matte object resting on my hip.

"Good," Locke said, "Here's hoping you don't need it – now, let's go."

The trip to Narshe could have been an arduous trek through knee-deep snowdrifts, but thankfully I managed to convince Locke that I could magically spread our weight over a much larger area, both allowing us to simply run across the surface of the snow and –as an added bonus- avoid leaving any tracks that could be followed back to the helicopter. Before long we found ourselves before the gates of the city, and I felt a mixture of horror and anger curdle nastily in my stomach as I surveyed the destruction.

"The Titans came this way," Locke stated grimly, and I nodded mutely in response. Certainly, I couldn't think of anything _else_ that could have blasted a thirty-foot high wall into blackened, twisted bits of still-flaming rubble. Only a couple of reinforcing pillars still remained, giving me an idea of the original size of the structure. Everything else had been utterly destroyed.

"There won't be any survivors," I said, and took a calming breath, "I've seen something like this before – you probably won't even recognise the corpses, either."

"Vaporised?"

"Carbonised," I shuddered, "I'm going to take a look around. It's...just possible that someone's still alive. Maybe."

"Firma-" Locke began, but I was already scrambling up the nearest pile of rubble. I felt stone shards slice into my hands and tear at my clothing, but I ignored both the pain and the sudden rush of cold as I raced towards the top. Surely the Titans didn't raze _everything_ to the ground, did they?

Naturally, that was answered the instant I cleared the top of the rubble, and I found myself momentarily dumbstruck as I looked out over the flaming ruins of what had once, I assumed, been a large and bustling town. The smoke made it difficult to see, but as far as I could tell everything had been either razed to the ground or was currently ablaze. The main road had been reduced to crazy paving, and was covered in rubble and dark, indistinct shapes that I decided against taking a closer look at.

"Not as bad as I expected," the stones shifted under my feet, and suddenly Locke was standing beside me, "Oh yeah, it looks like our friends in the Titans had an objective to fulfil, alright."

"Exactly how bad were you expecting it, then?" I said sharply, "The entire city's on fire!"

"Nah," Locke shook his head, "The smoke jus' makes it look that way. I reckon that if we got away from the main road we'd find most of the buildings completely untouched."

"Not that we're going to do that," I pointed out.

"'Course not. We're followin' those damn Titans to the end," Locke snorted, "Pity, though – there's a pretty good pub just-"

"-no."

"I wasn't being serious, pal," Locke looked hurt for just a moment, but returned quickly to the matter at hand, "Anyway, your sister and her handlers look like they powered straight down the main street. That'd take them straight to...where'd it take em...?" he scratched his chin for a moment, and then suddenly, "The mines! Of course – I guess there was something in those rumours after all!"

"Really? There's just one problem," I said, "Terra's not in the mines."

"No? You sure?"

"Yup. She's somewhere over there-" I waved indistinctly at a district that, I hoped, was slightly less on fire than the rest, "About seven hundred meters away, I think...and, uh..."

"What is it?"

"I can't detect any Magitek, Locke," I concentrated harder for just a second, but came up blank, "Nope – nada. There aren't any Titans in the vicinity."

"Really?" Locke didn't seem particularly relieved at that revelation. If anything, he seemed to become a little tenser, "We'd better hurry, then."

"Wh-"

"It's simple, pal," he said, and began to climb laboriously back down the pile of rubble, "If there aren't any Titans that means the Narshe Guard must've destroyed them, an' if she's alive then she's probably in custody, an' if she's in custody-"

"You think they're going to kill her?" I said, and felt a whole new thrill of terror scrabble at my gut.

"Messily," Locke snorted, "The Narshians have a cheap, cheerful, an' _really_ irreversible form of justice, and they don't tend to worry about little things like 'trials' either. You want your sister? We've gotta go - _now_."

That pretty much settled it in my mind, and without another word we set off into the twisty, turny little back passages that, as far as I could tell, made up ninety percent of Narshe. Locke's prediction had been right, too; once we got a short distance away from the main street and its choking smokescreen, the rest of the city seemed to be totally undamaged. On the other hand, I decided uncharitably, it looked like the sort of place that could certainly _use_ a bit of explosive redecoration. It wasn't just cold around here; it was _dark_, too, and an oppressive darkness at that. For the most part, the back streets were lit by the occasional, lonely lamp that gave us just enough light to see by. All the houses around us seemed to have either no ground-floor windows or they were boarded up from the inside – and none of the first-storey windows were lit, either.

"Where is everyone?" I asked nervously, "Seriously, this place is giving me the shivers."

"Narshians ain't a communal bunch, pal," Locke replied, "'Sides, they're probably off helping out with the fires."

"Well," I quickly looked both ways, "If nobody's around I'm going to give us some light. I'm sick and tired of almost breaking my neck on all this damn slush."

"No, wait-" Locke started, but before he could stop me two large, golden orbs burst into existence, providing some much needed light and melting the ice underfoot.

"See? Isn't that much better?" I said, and flexed my cold-numbed fingers, "I'm already feeling warmer."

"Put those out, you idiot!" Locke hissed, "Before someone-"

"_Frysa!" _

"-sees us..." Locke finished, accompanied by the ever-unpleasant sound of a rifle being cocked. Wearily, I put my hands in the air and turned to face our new friends.

My first thought was 'crikey, these guys are big', mainly because they were. Both of them were easily six foot tall and built like comic book superheroes, but beyond that it was difficult to make out any features, due mainly from the fact that they were swathed from head to toe in a strange, almost mummy-like garb. Still, while they may have looked like they were recently buried, the large, powerful rifles they were holding most definitely did not, and the long, metal barrels glowed evilly under the light of my light orbs.

"He said 'freeze', by the way," Locke added, somewhat unnecessarily. He, too, had his hands in the air.

"I got that bit," I said, "You speak Narshian, then?"

"A little," Locke said, and leaned away as a rifle was shaken enthusiastically in his face, "Hey, easy! You might hurt someone with that!"

There was a harsh, guttural yell from my personal attendant, and quite suddenly I found myself the subject of attention for _both_ guards. I gave them a quick, disarming smile and tried to bring my shields online as surreptitiously as I could. They probably wouldn't help at this kind of range, but I wasn't about to be ventilated by a goddamn Narshian gym rat if I could possibly avoid it.

"Translation?" I mouthed.

"They think that you might be the one that torched the city," Locke said, "I'm guessing your sister has green hair too, based on what they're saying."

"Just my sodding luck," I took a deep breath and remained very, very still, "Could you tell them that I'm a member of the Silver Sentinels on a medical mission of mercy?"

"I can try," Locke said, and spoke to the guards in a halting tone. There was a short pause, and then one of them replied aggressively and brandished his rifle in a rather unprofessional way.

"He says that you're part of the Imperial attack force and a murderer," Locke replied simply, "He also says that you killed his father."

"Really?" I watched with mounting alarm as the guard's rifle began to tremble. This guy was positively _screaming_ 'militia' at me - and a poor, undertrained bastard at that. Worse, he had the air of someone who was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown and a hair-trigger away from flying off the handle.

"He said you killed his father, his mother, and his sister," Locke added, half a pace behind the half-shouting, half-screaming voice of the more excitable guard. The other one, I noticed, seemed to be quite content to sit back and let his companion rant and rave, "You burned his father to the ground where he stood, and killed his mother when she tried to save him. His sist-"

"I don't need to hear all this, Locke," I said, and surprised myself with the steadiness of my own voice. Quickly, I acquired a firm magical grip around the barrel of both rifles, "Logically, if I actually _did_ it then I wouldn't have to hear about i-"

The guard screamed a short, sharp word, and suddenly I found myself staring straight down the barrel of his gun. Startled, I reflexively wrenched both guns skyward just as they went off with a deafening 'bang!' and then, before either guard could recover from their own shock, pulled the rifles from their hands and slammed the butts against their chins with as much force as I could muster. There was a sickening 'crack', and both men hit the floor like sacks of cement.

There was a long, oppressive silence.

"Bloody hell," Locke said, eventually, "Well, I guess we learned one thing from all that – the Narshians don't know where Terra is."

"That's true, isn't it," I said, and perked up slightly, "They're also shooting at anyone with green hair."

"Okay, so the _two_ things we learned from all that was that the Narshians don't know where Terra is and that they're shooting to kill."

"And they seem to be a wee bit on edge."

"Fine, so the _three_ things-"

"And magical light is a bad idea. It attracts attention."

"The _four_-"

"Anyway, we'd better go," I said, "These guys'll be okay – although that mouthy bugger is probably going to need a bit of dental work," I aimed a kick at the guard in question, but then thought better of it, "Besides, that rifle shot is going to have attracted attention."

"Sometimes, Firma, I swear that everything you do is meant to annoy someone in some way," Locke gave me a rather evil scowl, "I think a psychiatrist would have a field day with you."

"What makes you think they haven't already?" I smiled mirthlessly, "Let's _go_, mate."

We beat a hasty retreat down a dark side alley, twisting this way and that in a rushed attempt to get away from the site of our little faceoff. In the distance, I thought I heard muffled footsteps and a couple of shouts, but to be honest I didn't see how anyone could reliably track us in this light and through these passageways.

Locke suddenly skidded to a halt, and I ran clean into the back of him.

"Watch where you're going!" he hissed.

"Same to you, mate," I snapped, "Why'd you stop?"

"Look out there," Locke said, "That plaza's crawling with people. Looks like a makeshift hospital."

"Really?" I quickly peered round the corner and had to agree with Locke's assessment. We had come across a large, impressive square, bordered by wealthy-looking businesses on three sides and an equally elaborate temple on the other. The large, heavy-looking doors of the temple had been thrown open, and I could see that the inside was filled with people laid out on whatever flat surfaces could be found. Apparently even that hadn't been enough to cope with the wounded, as several makeshift camps had been set up outside around large, warming bonfires. Men and women in white clothing flitted from injured person to injured person, treating those who could be treated with what was available and easing the suffering of those who were too far gone to help. From the looks of it, the grand majority of the injured fell quite firmly into the second category.

"It's a triage centre," I said grimly, "To be honest, I'm surprised that those Titans left anyone alive long enough for them to need one."

"I'll bet most of these people were collateral damage – y'know, collapsing buildings, smoke inhalation, that sort of stuff," Locke shook his head, "We've looped around somehow, pal."

"Really?"

"Yeah; that's the Temple of Hellal, which means we're close to the main road again," he said, "I think we'd better backtrack a bi-"

"No," I said quickly, "We're close to Terra; I know it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah – give me a sec," I concentrated for a moment, and then, "Yeah! She's only about a hundred meters away. She's...in _that _house!" I pointed quickly as a small, squat house on a stony outcropping.

"That house?" Locke peered intently at the otherwise unremarkable building, "You sure about that, Firma?"

"Positive," I nodded, "Why?"

"'Cause I know the guy who owns that house, pal," his brow furrowed slightly, "He used to be the mining foreman before he retired, but I'd be surprised if _anyone_ knew-"

"Is this going anywhere?" I asked impatiently, "I mean, I love hearing his back-story and all, but it doesn't seem _entirely_ relevant to our situation."

"What I'm sayin' is that if _anyone's_ gone and done something rash, it's him," Locke gave me an annoyed glance, "If your sister's in his care then I'll bet a month's pay that he's doing it without the Narshe Guard knowin'."

"Aren't you _technically_ unemployed?"

"'S a good bet, then," Locke rubbed his chin, "Well, the fastest way to his house is through this square. You reckon you could play doctor for thirty seconds?"

"I _am_ a godsdamned doctor, Locke," I said, before honesty forced me to amend it with, "Well, I _will_ be soon, anyway."

"Great. Jus' draw your hood tight around your face and give me your shoulder," before I could argue, Locke draped his arm across my back and leaned on me for support. He was surprisingly light, "Great. Jus' try to play the medic bringing in the wounded, and if anyone stops us, let me do the talking."

Before I could object, we were already half-walking, half-staggering into the chaos of Narshe's triage centre. While it had seemed at least reasonably peaceful from the outside, up close it was a whirlwind of doctors and nurses rushing about with hastily gathered medical supplies and barely clean implements, attempting to tend to injured people that, I had to admit, almost certainly had very little time left. A couple of surreptitious glances revealed hideous burns, mangled limbs, and extremely severe lacerations – all examples of trauma that I could _easily_ resolve, but-

"Don't try anythin', Firma," Locke murmured, "You promised."

"But-"

"'Sides, you reckon these guys _want_ to see any more magic 'round here?" Locke and I stepped smoothly out of the way of a stretcher carrying a very, very badly burned young man, "If you tried to heal, say, that guy, you'll be shot up 'fore you finish reading his chart."

"But-"

"I know it's heartless, Firma, but these people're goin' to _die_. You can't save 'em all, either _with_ your magic."

"I know, but-"

"Concentrate on what we've got to do, pal. It may end up helping a lot more people in the long run."

"Fine," I sighed, "You're right, of course."

"Good," Locke patted me on my shoulder in a vaguely consoling way, "Now, let's go find your sister before these-"

"Frysa!"

"Oh, bugger," I muttered, as we turned around once again, "Does that mean 'Freeze' or 'Stop', incidentally?"

"Both. It sorta depends on the context," Locke said, and nodded amicably at the young doctor who had got our attention, "In this case, though, it really meant 'excuse me'."

"Oh, you speak Figaran?" the tired-looking man said, "That's a relief. I'm afraid my Narshian isn't really up to all that much."

"I speak a bit o' everythin'," Locke said, and then surprised me by adding, "You on an elective, pal?"

"Indeed," the doctor nodded, "Are you injured?"

"I'll be fine," Locke said, "Caught a bit of shrapnel in th' leg, but my friend managed to get it out nice 'n easy like. 'E dragged me down here, but I reckon I've gotten off much better than some of these poor devils."

"It sounds like you have a wise friend there," the man gestured at a nearby tent, "It's best to take a look now while-"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Locke put out a hand earnestly, "Seriously, pal."

"But we really should-"

"It's not that bad."

"Sir, it may be infected," the doctor sighed, "I may have to insist."

"Don't make a scene," I muttered, and glanced nervously from side to side, "Just deal with it."

"Fine...okay," Locke sighed, "Sorry about this, pal."

"I assure you, it can't be worse than anything else I've seen today," the doctor smiled wanly, and gestured inside the tent, "After you."

Slowly, and rather theatrically, Locke released his grip from my shoulder and hopped into the tent. The doctor gave me a weary, but thankful nod as he stepped inside, and brought the heavy flap of the tent down behind him. With a quick look both ways, I sidled up to the front of the tent and stood there looking as innocent as I knew how.

A sharp crack came from inside the tent, almost inaudible over the sounds of the triage centre. Locke re-emerged, massaging his right hand with a rueful expression on his face.

"If that guy doesn't make it as a doctor, I bet he'd have a great career as a boxer," he remarked, upon catching my expression, "He took that punch like a champ."

"Fantastic," I said, "We're just making tons of friends here, aren't we."

"We ain't here to play nice, Firma," Locke gestured sharply at our destination, "We're here to rescue your sister – so let's go and _do_ that already!"

"No objection from me," I offered him my shoulder, "Let's hobble."

We found no further challenges as we passed through the remainder of the triage centre, and I felt a few pangs of guilt at depriving the desperate citizens of one of their doctors – but at the same time, Locke was right, and if our rather ham-fisted cover had been blown at that point then there wouldn't have been any point to any of this. The instant we reached the cover of the nearest alley, we dropped the ruse and ran like hell up through more cross-cross, twisty turny alleyways towards the foreman's house.

When we got there, it almost didn't seem worth the effort. For a grand title like 'chief foreman', this guy didn't really have a house that measured up. It was reached by a single stone stairway, slick with ice that had me hugging the wall and cursing his existence all the way from the bottom to the top, and when I finally reached the top and collapsed panting on the snow outside, all that greeted me was a rather mousey-looking single-storey building that would be considered poor for a common labourer.

"Get up, Firma," Locke said briskly, and set off around the back of the house, "Your sister's waiting."

Quickly, I scrambled to my feet and followed him around to a rather thick wooden door located at the rear. Without any further preamble, Locke raised his battered right hand and knocked hard, sending echoes throughout the house.

"Open up, Arvis," he shouted, "I know you're there!"

There was a long, long pause, and finally a thin, reedy voice responded, "Who is it?"

"It's Locke, pal," he replied, "Now stop playin' around and let us in!"

The door opened a crack, allowing golden light to spill outwards into the gloom. An eye appeared in the gap, and gave Locke a long, hard look. Apparently satisfied, it then turned to regard me.

"And who is the gentleman with you?" the voice known as Arvis queried. Carefully, I lifted my hands to my hood and threw it back, exposing my hair and features to the light.

"Oh – oh I say. You must be a relation," there was a creak, and then the door was flung wide open, revealing a small, wizened old man with a frightened expression on his face and a heavy-looking mace in one hand, "I'm sorry, but the whole town is looking for her and-"

"It's okay, really," I almost felt like crying with relief, "So Terra's here then? Is she hurt?"

"Uh...well – maybe you should come in," Arvis looked flustered, but I didn't need telling twice, "What was your name, by the way?"

"Firmament," I said, and shook his hand in a rather perfunctory manner, "Sorry to be so abrupt, but where's my sister? I've been-"

"Firmament...sit down," Arvis said gently, indicating a high-backed wooden chair. Carefully, I lowered myself into it, and watched his face intently for any hint of what was going on, "Your sister...I'm sorry, son, but her mind...well, something's gone wrong."


	19. Chapter 18: Snowed Under: Part Two

**Chapter 18 – Snowed Under, Part Two**

"Something's gone wrong?" I said, and my mind whirled. If I were being honest with myself, I had pretty much expected this – after all, if Kefka's slave crown did what Celes said it did then it could probably break pretty much _anyone_, even without considering the trauma of being a helpless accessory to mass murder. Knowing all that didn't make it feel any better, though; I _still_ felt like someone had socked me in the face with a sledgehammer.

In any case, I needed more information. For a start, how wrong was 'wrong', anyway? Had she gone irreparably insane, or had Arvis merely misinterpreted Terra's normal actions as being a little loopy?

"I think you're going to have to be a wee bit more specific, Arvis," Locke, apparently, had read my mind, "There's an awful lot of ground that can be covered by your statement."

"I don't rightly _know_ what's wrong with her, Locke," the old man said irritably, "That's why I said what I did."

"Let's start with symptoms, then," I looked around, "Your house is still here, so I'm guessing that she's reasonably calm. What else?"

"I wouldn't say that she's _calm_, exactly," Arvis said, carefully, "She's just…not moving."

"At all?"

"At all," he nodded, "She hasn't budged an inch from where I left her. She's just…staring at the ceiling."

"That doesn't sound good," I said, and stood up, "I'd better see her."

"I'm not sure if that'-" Arvis began, but I cut him dead with a dangerous look.

"Arvis," I said, in a glassy tone of voice, "In order to be here today I've been kidnapped, imprisoned, shot at_,_ stabbed, stung, drowned, sunburned, frozen, thrown around like a bloody pinball and nearly shot down. Don't get me wrong here – I'm so, _so_ grateful to you for what you've done, but I'm also really, _really_ not in the mood to be messed around. Okay?"

The old man stared at me for just a moment, and then gestured down the short corridor, "Second door on the left."

"Thanks."

To say I had butterflies in my stomach at that moment in time would be a gross understatement. After so much time and quite frankly stupid amounts of aggravation, I was finally going to catch up with my sister. Granted, it sounded like she'd had a rather rough time of it, but surely that was something we'd be able to sort out…right?

Why in the world was I suddenly less certain about all this? After everything that I'd been through, and all those brushes with death, why did I just want to run and hide? It didn't make any sense, but all of a sudden I just wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Ah, get a grip," I muttered to myself, and shook those thoughts clear of my head. An aspiring Silver Sentinel couldn't afford to think along those lines – especially not now! Gritting my teeth, I forced the door open revealing a small, but well-lit room beyond.

"Terra?" I called softly. Based on what Arvis had said, it didn't seem likely that she would respond, but it seemed like a good idea regardless, "Terra, I'm coming in."

There was no answer, and with an inward shrug I stepped into the room. While it wasn't exactly huge, it _was_ well decorated – that is, if one considered geode-based decorations to be particularly high-class. They were _everywhere_; any flat surface that could possibly accommodate some form of rock did, although beyond that I didn't really pay them much heed. _My_ interest was directed entirely towards the bed and –more specifically- the person lying on it.

"Tee!" I cried, and felt a wave of relief that nearly knocked me to my knees, "Oh, thank the gods…"

There was no mistaking her, but as I crossed the room towards her my relief slowly turned to concern and then full-on alarm. Whatever had happened in the last few days, it hadn't been kind to her. Her face and arms were covered in a mess of bruises and cuts that looked like they had only just started to heal, and her right hand was wrapped and secured with a rather rudimentary splint. Upon the bedside table rested a bowl containing several long slivers of bloodstained metal; probably explosive shrapnel, I decided.

More concerning than those, however, was her expression. When Arvis had said she was staring at the ceiling, I had initially thought that…well, I wasn't sure _what_ I had thought, but it certainly didn't feature a look of total, abject horror nor the short, shallow breaths of someone on the verge of exhaustion. This wasn't just bad; I had a medical emergency on my hands here.

"She okay, Firma?" Locke's voice intruded at quite possibly the worst time.

"No, Locke – she's in shock!" I snapped, and span around to see him and the old miner peering in through the doorway, "Arvis, I wish you'd bloody well mentioned _this_!"

"I _did_," he replied irritably, "I…just didn't know exactly what it was."

"It's bloody well serious, that's what it is!"

"Firma, calm down!" Locke stepped in between Arvis and I before we could properly get going, "What do we need to do? Can you fix this here?"

I shook my head, "I can't; this isn't a physical malady. Well…actually it _is_, but-"

'Right – Arvis," Locke gave the old man a quick glance, "Do you have a coat that'll fit his sister? We'll need to move her, and _now – _provided we can move her, that is."

"She'll be okay," I said, and turned back to Terra's side, "I'll make sure of that."

"Good. Firma; make sure your sister's ready to go. Arvis; go look for anything that might fit her. We didn't come all this way to have her freeze to death now."

"You know, it'd be kind of ironic if Terra _did_ freeze to death," I muttered, once Arvis had left, "Mind you, considering what she must've suffered through already, I don't think a little bit of cold is going to annoy her all that much."

"It's fifteen below out there, Firma," Locke pointed out, "I think Edgar might cut my pay if I let his precious war-stopping Mage Knight die 'cause I didn't let her wrap up warm."

"Aren't you the philanthropist?" I remarked, "And where's that bloody coat?"

"Mind you, she's not the only one I'm concerned about," Locke added, and his gaze panned over to me, "I know I haven't known you for that long, Firma, but I _know_ when someone's just about to lose their temper."

"I bet you could fit the word 'know' in there again if you really tried," I said, rather snidely, "Of _course_ I'm angry, Locke! What did you bloody well _expect_?"

"Nothing less," he replied, "Just… don't lose it until we're safely away. I know this great abandoned district in South Figaro you can rampage through if you really want."

"I'll be okay, Locke. I've got enough on my plate to keep me busy," I said, and gestured meaningfully at Terra's injuries, "Just so long as nothing _else_ intrudes on-"

I'm reasonably sure that I've spoken at length about how the universe, at every turn, seems to think I'm some kind of chump with the words 'INCONVENIENCE ME, PLEASE!' rotating above me like a sleazy massage parlour sign. Regardless, it shouldn't come of a surprise to _anyone_ here that the instant those words came out of my mouth, the house was rocked by a voice amplified enough to give people in the next time zone tinnitus. Exactly _what_ the harsh Narshian voice was trying to say was lost on me, but I had a pretty good idea what the intent was.

"Let me guess," I said, in the icy tones of someone on the cusp of losing it entirely, "That would be the militia saying something like 'We know you're in there, come on out with your hands up. It's no use running, we have you surrounded."

"That seems about the long and short of it," Locke said. At some point during the deafening instructions he had crept over to the window, and was peering out into the darkness with the air of someone who had just seen something very, very nasty, "Yeah, there's a lot of men out there. Men and wolves, by the look of it."

"Do they look hungry?"

"I'd say…singed, actually," Locke crept back from the window, "Looks like they had a run in with our mysterious vanishing Titans."

"Locke! Firmament! We have a problem!" Arvis cried from down the corridor. A moment later, a small, furry pile came tearing round the corner at a far greater speed then I would have given him credit for.

"Is it in any way related to those damn super-sleuths out there?" I said, and quickly snatched the heavy brown coat out of his hands, "How _did_ they find us so fast?"

"Never mind about that now," Arvis snapped, "Besides, we have bigger problems."

"Really?" I gave him an alarmed look, "Those Titans haven't reappeared, have they?"

"Don't be silly, Firma," Locke cut in quickly, "You really think they'd be worried about _us_ if those monsters were still stamping around?"

"Point," I conceded, and got down to the rather complicated task of wrapping up my unconscious sister.

"So, Arvis," Locke said, in an irritatingly conversational tone, "We've got an angry lynch mob at the door, but you say we've got bigger problems then that? What?"

"They've…" the old man paused for a moment, as if contemplating a particularly unpleasant fact, "They've brought the Whelk."

"Oh," Locke's voice suddenly turned very serious, "Oh, _hell_."

"Excuse me?" I frowned, "It sounded like there was a capital 'w' on that 'whelk'? What's so dangerous about a whelk?"

Just then, the Narshian spokesman outside delivered another ear-shattering demand. In the momentary silence that followed, both Locke and I looked to Arvis for a translation.

"You two need to leave, now," he said, in a carefully measured voice, "That was their final warning."

"Can't we stall them?" Locke suddenly snapped his fingers, "Arvis! If you say that you're our hostage and we'll kill you if they come in, that might give us a bit more time!"

"Seriously, guys," I tried again, "What's so dangerous about a mollusc?"

"It's worth a try, I suppose," Arvis said dubiously. He gave a single, theatrical cough, and then raised his voice to shout a quick reply in Narshian to the men outside. There was a pause, and I remembered just in time to clap my hands over my ears before the militia's reply shook dust from the ceiling.

"He wants to know our demands, right?" Locke said, once the echoes had stopped.

"Close," Arvis smiled humourlessly, "He said that they're going to send in the Whelk if you don't set me free."

"Oh, yeah," Locke winced, "I'd forgotten about the Narshian approach to hostage-takers."

"They're going to send it in alone? Do people normally cave in to that sort of threat?" I asked incredulously.

"Normally? Yes."

"Crikey."

"Right," Locke rubbed his hands together, "Arvis; we're going to need an exit that doesn't involve going through those guys _or_ their pet bulldozer. You got Terra in here without being seen, so I'm guessing you have a way out, too."

"Well, I used to be foreman of the mines, you know," the old man drew himself up as far as he could, "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Fantastic," Locke muttered, "Firma, can we move your sister?"

"Given the alternative? Sure," I scrambled to my feet, scooping Terra up as I did so, "Good _gods_! How'd she get so heavy?"

"Probably best for you that she's unconscious, eh?" Locke said, and patted Arvis on the back, "C'mon, old man. Let's go!"

With a quick mumble of protest, the wizened foreman stepped out into the corridor with Locke hot on his heels. I did my best to follow suit, but by the time I'd managed to fit both Terra and I through the narrow doorway they had already made it down to the kitchen, and were in the process of tipping Arvis' coats out over the floor.

"Where did you put them, then?" Locke snapped, "Arvis, this is _kinda_ important!"

"Don't rush me, thief!" the old man retorted, "Keys don't just run away like that! If I can just remember what coat I had on yesterday-"

"Do we have a problem, guys?" I raised my eyebrows. Locke glowered at me.

"Arvis lost his bloody keys," he replied, "He reckons that they're in one of his coats' pockets – but he's got so _many _that he can't remember which on-"

"I live in _Narshe_, Locke! Of _course_ I have a lot of coats!" Arvis snarled, and angrily stuffed his hand into another pocket, "It's not called 'The Frozen City' for nothing, you know!"

"Well, could you find 'em quickly?" I said, "Any moment now we're going to be neck-deep in-"

"We know, we _kno-_" Locke was cut off by a window shattering back down the corridor. As one we turned around and saw two small, dark-green objects sail through the hole and hit the wood with a rather heavy 'thud'.

"Grenades?" I blinked, and then my brain caught up with my own statement, "Oh, bollocks to _that_."

With a harsh, annoyed twist of my wrist, the two grenades suddenly lifted from the ground and shot out the way they came. There was a pause, and then a terrific flash lit up the sky outside.

"Strange," I said, "I was expecting a ba-"

Right on cue, an enormous _'bang!'_ ripped through the air, strong enough to make the glass shards from the window rattle across the floor.

"And there it is," I turned and gave Arvis and Locke a bright smile, "Found those keys, yet?"

"You just keep doing…whatever it is you're doing, Firmament," Arvis said, in a tone of mixed fear and awe, "Leave the key-finding to us older men."

"Fine by me," I shrugged. There was a strange jangle, and then a rather wooden _'thud_' came from between my feet. Puzzled, I looked down to see-

"The keys!" Locke said, and dove forward to grab them, "Arvis, you bloody senile fool, you left 'em in the coat you gave to Terra!"

"The important thing is that we found them, right?" the old man whipped the key from Locke's hands and started down the corridor, "Hurry! We don't have a lot of tim-"

The remainder of Arvis' sentence was drowned out by a cacophony of splintering wood and collapsing masonry as the kitchen area came crashing down. Taken completely unawares, I had just enough presence of mind to shield us from the cloying wave of dust that rolled down the corridor, obscuring everything further than a foot away.

"Whelk!" Locke yelled, and I saw a dim silhouette of his hand wave frantically in front of my face, "Quick, Firma; follow me!"

"Are you telling me that that Whelk did _th-_"

"Yes!"

"Bloody hell," I said, and set off in hot pursuit of the thief's shadow. From up ahead, I could hear someone coughing laboriously, and –assuming that to be Arvis- changed course to head for him.

"Arvis!" Locke called, "Arvis – you okay?"

"…knocked down my whole damn _kitchen_!" I heard him reply, "Right – Locke; I'm going to need your help here. We have to move all this furniture so's we can get at the trapdoor."

"You have a trapdoor under your…where are we, anyway?" I looked around, and tried to get a feel for the room we were in, "Your _living_ _room_? How clichéd is that? Where is it, behind the liquor cabinet?"

"Never you mind, young lad," the old man said snippily, "Locke and I'll deal with getting the trapdoor open. Put those magical abilities of yours to good use and hold off that damn whelk until we can leave!"

"Okay, ok-"

"And take care of this dust, too!"

Considering the situation, I decided to leave my rebellious inner child on the inside for now and carefully set my sister down on the floor behind me.

"Alrighty then…" I said, and racked my brain for a suitable quip, "Time to… snail this git to the damn wall!"

There was a grinding of furniture, and then Locke said, "Firma; that was _awful_."

"Oh, shut up," I said, and began drawing upon my magical reserves. A moment later, a steady breeze began to blow through the room, clearing away the dust and revealing a small, rather natty living room, "Besides, isn't a whelk a kind of sea-snail?"

"He's right, you know," Arvis said.

"_Thank_ you."

"That _was_ awful," he continued, "It's not really a whelk, though. We just call it that."

Just then, the dust down the corridor billowed and breezed calmly out of the way, revealing the monster that had made an hor'doeve of Arvis' kitchen.

"Oh my word…" I added, and almost tripped over Terra as I backed away, "_That's_ the Whelk?"

I had to admit, there was a definite sea-snail resemblance, or at least there probably would be if I had the faintest idea what one looked like. For a start, it had an enormous, spiralling shell that was doing a terrific job of crunching and scrunching bits of Arvis' ex-kitchen into fine powder. To the untrained eye, looked pretty much what I expected a whelk to look like, although maybe one that had been kidnapped by a fifties super villain and force-fed radioactive isotopes until it had grown as large as a king-sized bed.

The illusion, however, was shattered the instant it stopped gnawing on a supporting wall and caught sight of my fleshy, tasty frame. There was a dark, nasty hissing noise from deep within the shell, and then the smooth, brown flesh extruding from the shell parted smoothly to reveal several rows of sharp, serrated teeth.

"I didn't know whelks had, y'know, teeth,," I said, drawing upon my immense knowledge of marine biology, "In fact, I'm pretty sure they _don't_."

"Does that really matter now?" Locke replied, from somewhere underneath a sofa, "Smoke the damn thing!"

"Okay! Fine!" I concentrated for a moment, and a brilliant golden light formed in the palm of my hand, "Alright, you…you…thing! Take _thi_-"

"Firma – wait!" Arvis cried suddenly, but it was too late. With a cry, I whipped my hand towards the enormous shell of the creature and released the crackling discus that had been forming in the palm of my hand. It soared down the corridor and detonated with a shower of sparks bright enough to momentarily blind all concerned. Quickly, I shook my vision clear of the afterglow and surveyed the damage.

The results were, it had to be said, somewhat underwhelming. Generally, my experience of hitting things with bolts of unimaginable power is that they exploded, often messily. By comparison, the Whelk seemed to be totally unfazed by the bolts skittering across its shell; if anything, the teeth seemed to have acquired a somewhat smug edge.

"Oh, no," Arvis moaned, "Locke, quickly!"

"What? What's going on?" I said, "Why aren't bits of it now in orbit?"

"And what's with the yellow glow?" Locke cut in. He was right; now that my spell had fizzled out the Whelk's shell had a definite golden sheen that it didn't have before. It was getting brighter, too.

"The Whelk…can eat electricity," Arvis said, "Normally it just stores it under the shell, but if it has too much…"

"It can _eat_ electricity?" my eyebrows shot up, "Of all the _bloody _pieces of information to withhold, you senil-"

"What do you mean?" Arvis retorted, "How was _I_ supposed to know that you were going to do…_that_? Locke, get that trapdoor up!"

"Well, what did you _expect _me to do?" I cried, over the sound of creaking wood and protesting metal, "Does the term 'Mage Knight' mean _nothing_ to you?"

"Firma! Arvis!" Locke snarled, "Would you cut that out and give me a hand over here? This thing's heavy!"

There was a rather sheepish pause, broken only by the ominous crackling of the Whelk's shell. The old man and I looked at one another for just a moment, and then as one rushed over to give the poor man a hand. With the three of us putting our backs into it the trapdoor slowly, grudgingly, began to open, revealing a dark, inky blackness below that made my skin crawl.

"Right. That should do it," Arvis said, once the trapdoor was maybe half-open, "Firma, take your sister and leave. Locke – you follow him!"

"Righto," I nodded, and quickly hurried across the room to grab my sister from where I'd pretty much dumped her. In passing, I noticed that the Whelk's shell was getting really quite painful to look at – it hadn't done anything yet, but I was pretty sure that it was giving some serious thought to rearranging the local geography.

"And what are you going to do, Arvis?" Locke asked pointedly.

"I'm going to follow you, of course!" he replied, "I didn't get to my age by taking part in brave last stands, you know!"

"That doesn't surprise me at all," with a grunt, Locke managed to force the trapdoor open another inch or so, "Firma, get down there!"

I didn't need telling twice – heck, I didn't really need telling _once_. As fast as I could, I slipped through the trapdoor and dropped into the dark, clutching Terra as closely as I could. My stomach gave a nasty little lurch as I dropped gracelessly to the ground, and I landed hard enough to twinge my ankle and wind myself. A moment later I was joined by Locke, who landed like a cat and rolled silently to a perfect finish.

"Now you, old man!" he called up, ignoring my jealous glare.

"Hold on, Locke – this thing's a little heavy!" the old miner called back, "Oh, bug-"

There was another shriek of metal, and then the trapdoor slammed shut with a rather final sounding 'clang'. In the darkness, I rolled my eyes to myself before calling a large, glowing sphere into being.

"Arvis!" Locke cried, "Arvis!"

"Locke, we have to go," I said, once the echo had resided, "Look, even if he _does_ survive whatever that Whelk is going to-"

From up above there was a white-gold flash and a deafening explosion of sound that knocked chunks of rock loose all around us. Somewhere in amongst the assault on my hearing, I thought I could hear the rumble of yet more collapsing masonry, and the trapdoor suddenly crumpled inwards with an almighty crash.

"Oh," I said, in the deathly silence that followed. Nothing else really seemed to fit.

"What an _idiot!_" Locke said, and swore loudly, "I _knew_ I shoulda made him go first! How was he meant to hold that thing up by himself? Damnit!"

"Locke-"

"I know, I know," with an effort, he appeared to compose himself, "Jus' gimme a minute to get my bearings."

It took but a few moment's work with the light and Locke's handy pocket compass for us to determine which direction vaguely went towards 'out' and then we were on our way. In fact, as far as I could tell, we were largely home free – sure, the endeavour hadn't exactly been the casualty-free escapade that I had been hoping for, but the important thing was that we'd gotten my sister back! Well, that was my opinion – as far as I could tell from Locke's face and his rather curt changes of direction, he was just a _little_ bit annoyed about how things had panned out, but to be honest I could definitely think of worse ways for an elderly man to go than to be blasted off the mortal coil by an irate super-whelk.

As far as our surroundings went, I had to say that they were pretty uninteresting. I had read enough about mines to know that they were dark, rather boring places that, if you were lucky, _stayed _boring. This one pretty much filled all the standard requirements; long, slick passages carved out of the rock, the occasional bit of structural reinforcement, and, after a little bit of walking, we even found a little mine cart track that clearly hadn't been used in some time.

"Guess this bit of the mine isn't used all that much," I remarked.

"All mined out," Locke said shortly.

"Mmm – uh, Locke? Am I right in remembering that we got some instructions about these mines? Like, 'not to enter them under any circumstances'? It's been worrying me for a little while, now."

"Feel free to take your chances with the whelk, pal."

"True," I looked around and shrugged, "It was probably nothing."

"Yeah," there was a pause, then, "Firma, you'd better do whatever it damn well takes to stay alive, you hear me?"

"I'm…I'm sorry?" I blinked, somewhat nonplussed at this new development.

"I know Arvis was an old man and all, but he still risked his life for your sister's sake," Locke said roughly, "I'm just trying to say that if you go and throw your life away for nothing, then it'd be…disrespectful to his memory, right?"

"Are you okay, Locke? Maybe we should take a break."

"No, I'm fine!" his sudden outburst echoed loudly down the corridor, "Arvis was an old friend, that's all – and…well…"

"You don't see why he had to die for our sakes?"

"Yeah!" Locke replied, and apparently surprised himself with his own forcefulness, "I mean, no offence, but I don't see what's so amazing about you two that people're tearing themselves apart to get at you."

"I don't know," I shrugged, "I really don't – but at the same time we haven't done anything to cause those deaths beyond, y'know, _existing_."

"It wasn't your fault, Firma," Locke said quickly, "I wasn't really _blaming_-"

"I know, mate," I looked at him for a few moments, then added, "Look, let's not think about it for now, and when we get back to Figaro we'll go out drinking in their memories. I think most of my mates back home would've liked that."

"Aye," Locke nodded, "I just hope you can hold your beer, pal."

"You haven't been out drinking unless you've been out drinking with a Mage Knight," I assured him, "They tried to legislate us into sobriety for a reason, y'know."

"Did it work?"

"Course not," I snorted, "Right. We seem to be at least partially in the clear, so I'm going to see how Terra's body is handling all of this."

"She looks calmer now."

"Yeah; that's great and all, but I'm not going to take that as the gospel truth," carefully, I laid Terra down on the ground and sat next to her, closing my eyes as I did so, "Hold on a sec, mate."

It took me a couple of moments to calm myself down, and then I felt the world around me become grey and muted as I concentrated on the magical realm. When I opened my eyes, Terra was shining with a radiant golden light, reassuringly strong against the dull, lifeless backdrop.

"Well, she seems okay," I said, my voice sounding sluggish and far away in my ears. Locke's reply, whatever it was, sounded like it was coming from underwater. Ignoring him for now, I concentrated harder on my sister, trying to determine if there was anything wrong with her that I could deal with on the spot.

'_Is this possible…?'_ a voice rang out clearly inside my head, and I suddenly sat bolt upright, _'Could there really be another?'_

"Locke, did you say something?" I asked quickly, and then mentally kicked myself. Of _course_ he bloody hadn't.

'_Who are you?' _the voice continued, _'How have you come to be here?'_

To be frank, I had no particular interest in answering the Amazing Mystery Voice. As far as I was concerned, kicking around discussing deep, philosophical conundrums with a figment of my overstressed imagination was not exactly time well spent.

'_You cannot answer?' _there was the mental equivalent of a shrug, and then, _'No matter; I can retrieve the necessary information myself.'_

Quite suddenly, my mind was assaulted with a wave of pain so intense that my already dull vision began to fade to black. What little sense I still had left in me was vaguely aware that I had collapsed, twitching, alongside my sister.

'_I apologise for this momentary inconvenience,' _the voice said, either unaware or uncaring of the damage it was causing me, _'I am now fully cognisant of you and your situation. The information I have gleaned is…interesting, to say the least.'_

"I-" I gasped, barely able to speak through the agony.

'_I will warn you; your plan to help your sibling has a fatal flaw. The implement that was used on her has corrupted systems beyond your ability to either detect or repair. If you continue your current course of action, I cannot assure you that she can be made whole again. Instead, I suggest tha-'_

There was a distant feeling of being shaken, and then pain blossomed on my cheek as someone slapped me, hard. The world returned in a rush of sound and colour, and I stared blearily up as Locke's worried face swam into focus.

"Wha?" I blinked, "What's goin-"

"Are you okay, pal?" he said, urgently, "You looked like you were havin' some kind of fit."

"I'm…fine, probably," I said, and sat up, "Why'd you hit me?"

"We've got company."

"Oh, wonderful," I replied tartly, "You know, you've got a _serious_ hand on yo-"

"Ssh!" Locke hissed, and knelt down beside me in the gloom, "Listen!"

Obligingly, I cocked my head and listened, curious as to what exactly had gotten Locke so spooked. The arrival of Narshian reinforcements seemed likely, but given their love of building-devouring molluscs I had my doubts on them sneaking up on us. Unfortunately, if I removed humans from the equation that left…what? What else, exactly, lived in this mine? Carefully, and ever so quietly, I gathered Terra up in my arms while I charged up several nasty surprises. I hadn't come this far to have my sister eaten by Indigenous Mine Denizen 217, that was for sure.

Still, what _was_ Locke hearing?

"There!" Locke hissed, "Did you hear that?"

"Uh, possibly?" I _had_ heard something, but I didn't know if that was what Locke was going on about, "Is that a dog? It's not huge, whatever it is."

"No dogs in this mine."

"_That's_ reassuring. What ate them?"

"Why would you have dogs in a mine, Firma?" Locke snorted, but I noticed that his hand hadn't strayed far from his knife, "Hah, that's not a dog, but I think I know what it is."

"What is it?"

"Hold on – you'll find out _real_ soon…"

There was a long, tense pause, and inwardly I cursed the git for not letting me in on his great secret. Slowly, the padding noise drew closer and closer, until finally, out of the darkness came-

"Oh, you are _kidding_ me," I whispered, "This is where they come from?"

Suffice it to say, it was more than a little anticlimactic. While I had been secretly expecting some many-toothed, tentacled monstrosity from before time began, what _actually_ emerged resembled an almost offensively cute teddy bear. It was, at most, only two feet tall, and almost _skipped_ along in a carefree way that made my bile duct go into overdrive. The bobble nose and large, soulful eyes were no better, and just to top it off, a little red bobble dangled off its forehead, shaking slightly as it went.

"Aye, that's a moogle alright," Locke muttered, "Where've you seen 'em before?"  
"Uh…biology class day trip to the Imperial Museum," I gave the little thing a second glance, "Suffice it to say, they're a _lot_ less cute when they've been dissected and dipped in formaldehyde."

"Really?"

"And all the internal organs-"

"_Okay,_ Firma," Locke said, probably more loudly than he had intended. It certainly got the attention of our little visitor, whose immediate response was to emit a sickeningly appealing high-pitched squeal and produce, from the depths of gods only knew where, a very shiny, sharp-looking spear.

"Holy Callista!" I swore, and did my damndest to keep my hands where they could be seen, "What in the-"

"Relax, Firma," Locke said evenly, "It won't attack unless we corner it. Just…stay still and let it calm down."

"Okay, fine," I slowly released my death-grip on Terra and lowered her gently to the floor, "Would you might explaining something, though?"

"What?" Locke leaned away in the face of the advancing spear-tip, but didn't look particularly concerned.

"Well, that moogle's probably about two feet, right?" the spear waved gently around in front of me, and I began to think some seriously dark thoughts, "Where was it hiding a three-foot spear, precisely? I mean-"

"Kupo!" the moogle's cry caught me momentarily off guard, but then I realised that it had spotted the prone form of my sister, "Kupo, kupo!"

"Locke," I said warningly, "What's going on? It'd better not be thinking of her as dinner."

Quite suddenly, the little white furball emitted another sharp squeak and jumped backwards, cocking its head as it did so. There was a long pause while we watched the moogle warily, and then my blood went ice-cold as I heard, in the distance, the sound of baying dogs and gruff, raised voices.

"Guards," Locke said urgently, scrambling to his feet, "Damnit! We've stayed here too long! Firma, quick!"

"Do we know where we're going?" I said, gathering up my sister once more, "They're going to be on us before long."

"No – damn!" Locke gave me a long, hard look, "Firma, do you still have that pistol?"

"Yes, but-"

"You may want to give some serious thought to using it, pal. It's them or us."

"How bloody clich-"

"Kupo!" the little moogle interjected, bouncing up and down in a desperate attempt to get our attention.

"What is it?" I asked nastily, my temper frayed by the thought of oncoming wolves, "Is little Timmy stuck down the well agai-"

"Firma!" Locke snapped, "I think it wants to help."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows, "D'ya can it hide us wherever it was hiding that spear? Because we've going to need a battalion of the little blighters if we're going to have any chance against those guards."

There was a rather uneasy silence, and then several more small white shapes melted out of the darkness around us. I wasn't much good at reading their little button eyes, but to be honest I didn't really need to. Their weapons, clutched tightly in their disgustingly cute paws, showed their intention simply enough.

"Oh, bugger _me_," I said, looking at them each in turn, "Hold on, is that one carrying a _flamethrow-_"

"Looks like it," Locke observed.

"Is that normal?"

"What today _has_ been normal, eh?" he asked sourly, "I'm a little bit off the map her-"

"Kupo!" the moogle that had run into us was gesturing wildly at us, "Kupo!"

"What does he want?" I frowned, and looked at where it was gesturing to, "Hold on, does he want us to follow him?"

"Looks like it," Locke glanced at the other moogles, who seemed to be concealing themselves as best they could against the mineshaft walls, "I reckon these guys're going to ambush the guards."

"But why?" I scrambled quickly to my feet, "They'll be-"

"Lad, when you've been in this business as long as I have, you'll learn all about the golden rule."

"And that would be?"

"Never pass up on an opportunity for someone else to do the dyin'," Locke gave me a sharp prod in the direction of the moogle, "Now _move_, Firma!"

The sounds of the guards and their dogs were quickly lost in the distance as the little white bear led us down a seemingly random series of passages at a pace just fast enough to make me sweat. Finally, just as I thought we were getting lost, the moogle came to a halt in front of a seemingly uninteresting rock face.

"Kupo," it said with finality, and nudged an equally boring outcropping with its paw. A long, drawn-out grinding noise came from deep within the walls and then, with a rumbling that shook the mineshaft in a very alarming way, the rock face slid back into a recession. The brilliant light of the Narshian dawn, seeming all the more brilliant for our time underground, streamed into the mines, momentarily blinding me and leaving little speckly dots across my vision.

"Kupo," the moogle said once more, and I thought I caught a rather sad, disconsolate edge to its statement. Before I could inquire any further, though, the little creature had retreated back up the tunnel, presumably to go and find its friends.

"Well, that was lucky," Locke remarked, his breath crystallising in the suddenly chill air, "Not every day you meet a moogle that gets you outta a tight spot."

"He didn't want to," I said suddenly, "They didn't want to help us. They were…forced to, I think."

"Oh, aye?" I suddenly found myself the victim of an appraising stare, "By who, pal?"

"Beats me," I admitted, "It was just a thought."

"Well, while you're standin' here wondering about that, those guards back there've probably earned themselves several new fur coats an' are on their way to get our scalps! 'Sides, it's freezin' here."

""Yeah…you're right," I looked back once more, just to see if the little moogle had reappeared, "Poor things – mind you, I _still_ want to know where he was keeping that spear."

"Yeah, it's a regular mystery of the universe," Locke said, and set out into the snow, "Let's wrap this up, shall we?"

Unsurprisingly, it didn't take me long to start longing for the quiet chill of the mines. Sure, they were filled with dark, eldritch horrors and child-friendly ursine militiamen, but at least the ambient temperature was above the freezing point of helium and there wasn't, critically, a perpetual waist-deep snowdrift constantly in the bloody way. I felt exposed, too; barring the occasional small copse of evergreen pines, the entire way between here and our waiting ride consisted of nothing but flat, featureless snow against which we had to stick out like a sore thumb.

"Y'know," I remarked, "If I wasn't devoting _all_ my bloody magic to maintaining my sister, I could've cleared this by now."

"Oh, really?" Locke sounded rather disinterested.

"Yeah. I just hope that she appreciates everything that we've done for her, is the point I'm trying to make."

"Yeah, I'm sure she'll be just ecstatic to hear how we somehow managed to get a group of cuddly bears to commit mass suicide to buy us time," Locke looked at me askance, "I still don't buy that that was anything more than a coincidence, y'know."

"It wasn't," I said firmly, "That help was _sent_. Don't ask me how."

"Well, I'm just sayin-"

From far, far back, there came a deathly, piercing howl that managed to freeze whatever blood was still liquid.

"Wolf?" I said hopefully. Locke shook his head.

"Narshian guard dog," he said sharply, "They've got our scent; come on!"

"How close is the helicopter?"

"Not close enough!" Locke looked around wildly, "If we don't get a move on, we'll be arse-deep in dogs and handlers in no time!"

Locke's prediction turned out to be devastatingly accurate. Barely five minutes later, his keen eyes picked out a trio of dots emerging from a far-off tree line. To me, it was pretty obvious that they were both on our trail and gaining fast, and with the baying of the guards' hound ringing in our ears we redoubled our efforts to reach our chopper before they caught us.

"You…do you…have anythin' that could help us?" Locke said, and mopped his streaming brow for the umpteenth time, "Y'know, being a Mage Knight and all…"

"Nothing that wouldn't bring an avalanche down on us," I replied, "Magic isn't really known for its subtlety."

"Ah, _sod_," Locke cursed, "Jus' keep running then! It ain't far!"

By now, the hound's panting was getting really quite close, and it was interspersed with several short, sharp orders being barked in Narshian. Trying my best to put the thought of guns and sharp teeth out of my mind, I pressed onward.

A few moments later, we crested the little hill leading down to the gulley concealing our helicopter, and I felt relief wash over me as the long, glinting blades slowly began to turn at our approach.

"We're going to make it, Locke!" I laughed, despite myself, "We're actually going to sodding _make_ it!"

"Aye, lad!" Locke seemed just as relieved as I was, but then his expression shifted to one of great alarm, "Firma, look out!"

I whipped around just as a large brown shape erupted from the snow, its long, vicious teeth bared and aimed directly at my throat. With a speed born of desperation, I twisted my back to shield Terra from the rushing dog and unleashed a high-pressure blast that carried the snarling animal clean over my head and into a snowdrift some meters away. It staggered to its feet, more confused than hurt, but before it could have another go Locke was upon it. There was a flash of steel, a powerful spray of blood, and then a long, terrible silence.

"Crikey," I said finally, and tried to get my racing heart under control, "Thanks, Locke."

"No problem," Locke said grimly, and I turned to follow his gaze, "Though I think those two up there might want to have a go themselves."

Thanks to the sun and their clothing, the two Narshians who had appeared at the summit looked like a rather strange cross between a mummy and a snowman. Despite that, they still cast very imposing shadows as they both drew two long, thin objects that shone in the light in a menacing way.

"Firma, take your sister and run," Locke said shortly, "I'll hold them off."

"No," I said, and shook my head sharply.

"No?"

"Yes, 'no', as in 'No, I think that's a stupid idea," I added, "It's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, it's that I don't think you'll last more than five seconds against these fine fellows."

One of the Narshians, apparently unable to restrain himself, suddenly leapt forwards with a war cry that resounded off the nearby mountains.

"Well, you'd better think of some way to make yourself useful then, pal," Locke drew another dagger and stepped forwards to receive the charge, "Preferably in the next four seconds, aye?"

The Narshian's sword glowed as he brought it above his head and down in a brutal slicing motion. There was a sharp 'clang' as it met Locke's crossed daggers, and then the two men were straining against one another, seeking for a way past the lock and into their opponent's guard. There was another clang as they broke apart, and then they were back at it once again, the air ringing with the sound of metal on metal.

"Damnit, Firma!" Locke called, the strain audible in his voice, "Don't just stand there!"

Something in his voice called out to me, and I realised with a start that he was far more tired than he was letting on. Quickly setting Terra down, I called my glowing blade back into existence with a quick snap of the wrist and a snarl of electricity. If I dialled back on the power, it'd probably just paralyse him temporarily instead of kill him, and then-

The air tore with the harsh crack of a rifle, and suddenly I found myself flat on my back with pain blossoming through my left shoulder. A warm, wet sensation managed to speak to my shock-addled mind, and looking down I could see that my uniform was beginning to stain a deep, dark red.

"Firma!" Locke called again, and then cried out in pain as his opponent caught him with a vicious blow from the pommel. Dimly, I could just about make out the far off man begin to stride purposefully towards us, putting the long, smoking rifle on his back as he did so.

'_He's going to kill Terra!'_ I realised with a thrill of terror. Having incapacitated me and with Locke already tied up, it looked like he was quite happy to finish the job up close and personal – and sure enough, there was a telltale glint from his waist as a knife was retrieved from its sheath.

'_He's going to kill Terra!'_ the little voice inside my mind continued to rage as I searched around desperately for a way out of this situation. Magic was out of the question – any magic reserves I had now were devoted entirely to self-preservation, and Locke was busy being kicked across the snowfield by a man fully half a foot taller than him. What could I do? There _had_ to be something.

My right hand quite suddenly touched something icy cold, something _metal_ on my hip, and my heart almost skipped a beat. My _sidearm_ – of course! He couldn't kill Terra if I killed…him…first...I could already feel the blood draining away from my face as I considered the possibility.

'_He's going to _kill_ Terra!'_ the man was quite close now, and I could see the almost inarticulate rage in his eyes, _'If you don't act, she will be _dead._'_

'_But-'_

'_What's more important to you?'_ the voice added, _'Your sister, or not having blood on your hands? Are you really _so_ scared of that that you're willing to let him commit murder instead? What kind of Sentinel are you?'_

The long, wicked knife went up, and I made my choice. Getting a firm grip, I drew and cocked the sidearm with a single smooth motion that would have made my old instructors proud. As the guard leapt back in surprise, I drew a firm bead, shut my eyes, and emptied the magazine into his chest.

The voice in my head fell silent, leaving me alone to consider the enormity of what I had done. From somewhere nearby there was a wet, heavy thump as a large object hit the ground, and when I finally gathered the courage to open my eyes the Narshian was lying unmoving where he had stood, and the snow beneath him began to darken as I watched.

"Oh, gods," I choked, and let the pistol fall from between my fingers, "Oh, Callista…"

"Firma, pal!" Locke's head appeared above me, but his voice sounded strangely different, "How bad is it? Can you stand?"

"I'm…I'll be okay," the wound had already begun to scab over, thanks to my magic. In another five minutes, it would be as good as new, "What about you? What happened to-"

Locke gestured almost dismissively to another crumpled heap in the snow, "Poor fella learned a valuable lesson about people with two knives?"

"Oh?" I didn't really care, but Locke seemed to want to telll me.

"Well, we normally have _three_ knives."

"Oh, good," I smiled wanly, and climbed slowly to my feet, "Locke…I…I-"

"You did well," Locke said gently, "It's never easy, taking a life like that."

"But…I-I killed…" I felt the tears welling up, and shielded my eyes with my hand, "I can't believe it…"

"Look, pal, I know it's not much consolation, but you stopped him from stabbing your sister to death," Locke knelt down and slowly gathered Terra up into his arms, "Isn't that worth it?"

"I…I guess," I said, finally.

"Take it easy, pal," Locke said, "You're not going to get over it quickly. We'd better leave, anyway; Samson's waiting, and neither of us are in any condition to fight."

"Yeah," I gave my victim one last look and turned away, "I hope all of this was worth it."

"So do I, Firma," Locke said, and started down towards the idling helicopter, "I really do."


	20. Part 2: The Thief, the King, etc

**Part Two: The Thief, the King, the Knight, and her brother**

You know what? Winter in South Figaro really, _really_ annoys me. When I was a lad, winter was a serious affair; you got snow deep enough to hide an army in, ice thick enough to put train tracks across, and by gods if you forgot to put a coat on you'd probably lose a few extremities by the time you came back in. Not that you'd _forget_ to put a coat on, y'know, because of the fact it was so goddamn_cold. _Here? Well, thanks to a combination of international convention and that whole 'opposite side of the hemisphere' thing, Midwinter's takes place in the exact middle of _bloody summer_. I'm not sure what brainless, long-dead diplomat managed to negotiate this particular winner on behalf of the Figaran Kingdom, but I'm willing to bet that it's the same guy who suggested that we go out maypole dancing for the Midsummer's celebration – y'know, when its minus three and hailing cannonballs.

I know I'm not the only one who thinks this, too; my dearsister's just turned up for an early Midwinter's celebration, and the first thing she asked me when I met her at the harbour was why I asked her to come six months early. She was joking, of course (or I, um, _think_ she was joking – this is Terra, after all), but the point's still worth making that there's no point in roasting chestnuts on an open fire when you can get the same effect just by holding them up in the air. It's a good thing we're _actually_ going to celebrate Midwinter's in Mobliz, 'cause the heat up here may just set the tree on fire.

Anyway, that gripping escape from Narshe reminded me of something. A little while ago, I was having a discussion with some of the younger trainees about the pros and cons of arming the Sentinels when one of them turned to me and asked, quite bluntly, what it was like killing that man on the Narshian snowfields. I probably should've seen it coming, but the all I could do was mumble something about how I couldn't really rationalise it at the time (having just, y'know, been _shot_), but when I came to think about it later, I really, really regretted it.

Don't get me wrong, here – if the same situation cropped up again, I probably wouldn't do anything differently. However, as much as I'd like to believe that the people I've killed over the years have been friendless single orphans, the fact remains that the man I shot dead probably had a sister of his own, or parents, and he almost certainly had friends. Once that thought gets into my head, it spends hours banging around in there, and I end up wondering if I _could_ have done anything differently. I'm a Mage Knight, after all; we're _supposed_ to have other options open to us.

Whenever I've asked Terra about that moment in the snow, she always comes out with the same thing. _She_ was in danger; _I _was in danger; why should I waste time and energy sparing the life of someone who had no intention of sparing ours? I still haven't really got a good answer to that beyond a vague feeling that I _should, _and I have to admit it kind of bugs me. I'll see if I can come up with anything between now and the end.

Anyway, we're going to leave that somewhat morbid train of thought there, not least because I've got to head down to the pub. Apparently, Terra read somewhere that I promised her a free beer and she wants to collect while she's got some time away from the children. As a way of making this up to you guys, I promise to find out if that whole 'six months early' thing was a joke...

**Chapter One: Trial By Error**

Right. First things first; apparently, yes, that 'six months early' thing _was_ a joke. To be honest, I'm not sure if I should despair of my sister ever developing a sense of humour, or to be proud that she's at least making progress. Regardless, I think we can all agree that it was bloody _awful_, and in the glorious name of sibling rivalry I've come up with the worst pun my hangover-clouded mind can produce on the spot. I hope you enjoy it, 'cause it's making me feel genuinely nauseous.

Just a quick word of warning before we continue; never, _ever_ try to out drink Terra. She certainly doesn't look the part, but last night I saw her down concoctions whose fumes made me see double and crinkled the wallpaper behind her. To make it worse, she doesn't even have the good graces to _pretend_ to be hung-over, either – in fact, the only true satisfaction I've derived from the whole ordeal was getting to hear her off-key shower singing being rather harshly curtailed by some heartless _bastard_ turning off the hot water.

Anyway, I think my fiancée's taking her off to see the sights today, so I'll try to get as much done while my headache is at a manageable level. If it all ends up seeming a little surreal, don't worry – that's just the painkillers talking.

Let's roll!

I think it would be pretty reasonable to say that that helicopter ride back to Figaro Castle was one of the longest journeys of my life, or at least it would be if I really remembered any of it. According to Locke, I spent my time staring listlessly at the wall in a trance born of shock and exhaustion, emerging momentarily for quick, panicked check-ups on Terra's condition. Thankfully, he knew better than to try and disturb me, and so we returned to Figaro under the faint haze of somewhat morbid depression.

When reality _did_ reassert itself, however, it did so in a way that made it as clear as possible that _this_ time it was here to stay. As we approached Figaro Castle, the speakers overhead gave an almighty hiss followed by a bout of feedback strong enough to rattle my molars in their sockets. Suddenly blasted clean out of my reverie, I looked around the cabin blearily as King Edgar's voice broadcast some very un-royal remarks across the airwaves.

"_-hell!_ Turn that speaker down, will you Jenson? Darn thing nearly blew out my eardrums. Anyway-" the royal throat was cleared, noisily, "-this is Castle Figaro to the approaching Sentinel medical helicopter. Please state your mission and heading, over."

There was a faint groan from across the cabin, and I looked over to see Locke's head buried in his hands.

"This is the Silver Sentinels' Airborne Emergency Response Team Calypso-Three-Seven, Castle Figaro," Samson's voice came from up front in the cockpit, "We have returned from our mercy mission to Narshe. All supplies have been successfully delivered, over."

"Confirmed, Calypso-Three-Seven," Edgar said, "I'm sure they appreciate the help. The helipad is clear for your arrival. Over and out."

There was a click, and then the speakers went dead.

"What was that about?" I asked, in a rather distant and disinterested tone.

"What d'ya think, lad?" Locke snorted scornfully, "Edgar wanted to know if we'd been successful. 'Course, he couldn't ask directly 'cause, well..."

"Anyone could be listening in?" I frowned, "Isn't anyone who's going to be listening in going to be just a _little_ bit curious that the sodding _King_ of Figaro is manning the radios? Shouldn't he be, uh, inspecting the troops or something?"

"He's a very hands-on king, Firma," Locke assured me, "He's probably just installed new whotsit on the castle's radios and wants to find out how well it works. Who's going to say no to the king? Anyway-" Locke's gaze shifted slightly to my left, "-how's your sister doing? She's looking...better."

He was right, although in all honesty that was more of a testament to her regenerative abilities instead of any aid I had supplied. For the most part, the mass of cuts and bruises had healed over completely, leaving only a faint trace of new, baby-pink skin in their wake. The splint on her hand was also no longer necessary, and indeed had been one of the first things I had removed once we were safely away. Provided there were no complications, I had every expectation that she'd make a full physical recovery within the next six hours or so. As far as I was concerned, though, that wasn't the main problem here.

"Physically, Terra's fine," I said, eventually, "Mentally speaking? I don't know – it's not my specialty."

"I'm sure she'll get the best treatment Figaro has to offer, Firma," Locke reassured me, "You've done enough already, y'know. Nobody expects you to do _everything_."

"Why not?" I asked, with maybe just a hint of bitterness in my voice, "They have until now! If Edgar'd thrown more weight behind us, maybe we could've gotten to Narshe before she had!"

"That's wishful thinking, pal, and you know it," he snorted, "'Sides, you know as well as I do that if he were seen _obviously_ helping you then the Empire'd be beating down the door before you'd have a chance to get that lovely thick coat off."

"But the Empire already _knows!_" I protested, "Imperial Intelligence was auctioning off my head before I even got to Figaro!"

"It's politics, Firma," Locke sighed, "Your Emperor can't very well say 'Aha, my illegal operatives have discovered that your illegal operatives have been doing something illegal!'. They're going to need definitive _proof_ before they can declare war, an' without that their shiny Magitek tanks can't very well make landfall without causing massive international repercussions."

"So without that, they're stuck with using small groups of Imperial assassins?"

"Pretty much," Locke smiled nastily, "An' we can _handle_ small groups of Imperial assassins, right mate?"

"I suppose," I said, rather noncommittally.

There was a pause, and then;

"On the other hand, they could always _invent_ a _casus belli_," Locke shrugged, "Didn't think of that, I gotta admit. Take Doma, for instan-"

There was a deep, resounding clang, and the helicopter juddered ever so slightly as its landing skids came into contact with sweet, reliable ground.

"Huh, guess that'll have to wait," Locke said, and glanced absently out of the nearest porthole, "I'll bet your good friend the Father Superior and His Majesty're desperately waiting for news, and I don't think it's a good idea for mere mortals like us to keep 'em waiting."

"Mere mortals like _you_, you mean," I said pointedly, "I'm not letting Terra out of my sight until she's up and walking around. If they want me, they can come find me in the medical wing."

"Those are awfully brave words, pal," Locke said absently, "How's about you take a quick look outside and tell me if you still feel like sayin' them?"

With a growing uncertainty in the pit of my stomach, I quickly scrambled to my feet and joined Locke at the tiny window. Although the helipad was largely shrouded in darkness, what I _could_ see didn't exactly have the air of a victory celebration. Several teams of rather heavy-set men had surrounded the helicopter, and although none of them had drawn their weapons I got the distinct impression that it would take very little effort on our part for that aspect to change rapidly.

"Double-cross?" I asked quickly. Locke considered the situation for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Don't think so. Edgar's not the type," he said, and sat back, "I think it's more that he's planning something that he knows you're not going to like and he's not sure how you're going to react. If I were him, I'd probably have lots of guns on standby as well."

"Well, I-" I began, but was interrupted by a harsh knocking from the helicopter door.

"That sounds like our friends," Locke remarked, "Be a good host and let 'em in, pal."

To say I wasn't particularly amused by this turn of events would be putting it mildly, and I was already thinking of ways to make my position _abundantly_ clear as I stalked over to the helicopter door and slammed it open with a nasty rattling noise.

"Alright, Edgar," I began harshly, "What the _hell_ do you mean by-"

I stopped, partially because it wasn't Edgar on the other side of the door, but mainly because his replacement was a six-foot tall bruiser built roughly along the same lines as a brick privy. A quick glance as his face suggested that this guy had an uncomfortably large amount in common with some of my harshest drill instructors, and it darkened visibly at my invective to the point where I was at least reasonably sure I was one syllable from getting my head twisted clean off my head.

"_His Majesty_, _King_ Edgar," he began, distaste dripping from every heavily-accented syllable, "congenially requests the presence of you and your compatriot. Immediately."

"What about my sister?" I said challengingly, "I'm not going anywhere without her."

"A Sentinel team is en route," the man rumbled.

"En route isn't exactly _here_, though," I pointed out, "It doesn't change my answer, either."

"My men will keep her safe for now," he replied, "You can see her when the king has dismissed you."

"How gracious of you," I said acidly, "I-"

"Calm down, pal," Locke said easily, "I know that yer want to look after yer sister, but these guys're the best that Figaro's got to offer. She'll be right with them until you can get back to her, isn't that right, Stor?"

The man now known as Stor nodded familiarly at my mate.

"Trust me, this man's one of the best," Locke patted me on the back, "T'ain't nobody's going to get one by him."

"Fine, fine!" I threw my hands up in the air and fixed Stor with a nasty glare, "I suppose I'm not going to make much headway against you and your men, but I'm_ not_ happy about this."

"Yer've made that perfectly clear, pal," Locke assured me, "Why don't we go an' talk to Edgar about this, eh? The faster yer done with him, the faster yer'll be back at yer sister's side."

"That sounds like an _excellent_ idea, Locke," I said, and stepped down onto the still-warm helipad, "Incidentally, what on_ earth_ are you trying to do with your accent?"

"What'dya mean?" Locke joined me, and together we walked carefully through the throngs of rather heavily-armed men. Ahead of us the roof doors opened, and I was gratified to see a small team of Sentinels come bundling through carrying a full array of trauma equipment. Between Stor and my fellow medics, I was pretty certain that Terra'd be okay – well, at least for the next five minutes...

"What'dya mean, pal?" Locke repeated, catching my attention once again.

"About what?" I blinked, and then my brain held up a red flag, "Oh, yeah – what on earth _is_ going on with your accent? I mean, I thought you had 'regular Locke' and 'country bumpkin Locke', but now it just sounds like you're stuck somewhere between the two."

"Uh-huh," he didn't really sound all that impressed, "I don't suppose, during yer first-class Imperial education, that yer teachers saw fit to tell yer that Kohlingen has the highest number of regional accents in the world, eh?"

"No, but I'm _fascinated_," I replied, and stood aside to let the Sentinels through, "Besides, I wasn't aware that your goal was to imitate every last one of them."

"It's very useful, _pal_," Locke said irritably, "If I want ter sound like someone from Taemar, then I can, but-" there was a slight, but noticeable change in pitch, "-if I wanted to imitate a more upper-class socialite from Kohlingen itself, then I can."

I shrugged, "Say what you want. It all sounds Kohlinglese to me."

"Well, lad, that's 'cause you've never gone anywhere yer entire life," Locke patted me on the shoulder once again, "I suppose that this is all a lot ta take in."

"I still don't think it'll be very useful, though," I said, starting down the stairs into the castle proper, "I mean, if you sound the same to me whether or not you're an inbred hillbilly or Lord Whatshisface, I'm not going to be fooled by your cunning changes in voice. I'm just going to think 'Hey, it's that guy who likes shiny things. Why is he wearing a monacle?'"

"Yeah, but yer haven't seen any of me disguises, pal," Locke said.

"Oh, you have _disguises_? My word..."

The sounds of our argument trailed along behind us as Locke led me down small, rather sterile corridors until we finally reached the plusher parts of the castle that I recognised. From there, it was just a short walk to the unreasonably long corridor that, I suspected, was where we'd be meeting up with King Edgar for a nice, civil chat.

"Look, I'm not _doubting_ that it _might_ work – hey guys," I said, nodding to the two members of the King's Guard who were on watch today, "I'm just saying that surely there're better ways of getting information than by pretending to be some idiot from somewhere I haven't heard of!"

"Listen, kid," Locke replied hotly, "When you've been in the business as long as I have-"

"-and how long's that, exactly?" I asked, "You're not _that_ much older than me."

"About four, five years?" he replied, "Long enough to know what I'm talking about, anyway."

"My word, this does sound interesting," there was a polite snort from up ahead, and we both turned back to see Edgar standing in the suddenly open doorway, "I_ do_ hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Is this guy as good as he says he is?" I said, and jerked my thumb roughly in Locke's direction.

"I'm sure I don't know anything about what you're talking about," Edgar said smoothly, "I suggest you two come on in. We don't know who might be listening."

"Yes, that sounds like a _fantastic_ idea," I said, and started forwards. Behind us, the doors swung silently shut, "I'll be frank; I want to have a word with you, your Majesty."

"I'm sure you do," Edgar replied, "As do we."

"We? Who's this-" I stopped as I spotted the vaguely-familiar shape of Father Superior Aston, reclining in a chair on the other side of the room, "...ah. Hello, sir."

"Congratulations on your safe return, Trainee Sentinel," Aston stood up, and flashed one of his absurdly bright smiles, "I understand that you were successful in your mission, too. Is your sister safe?"

"Perhaps safer then I'd like, sir," I said, and spun to face Edgar, "What's this with the hordes of heavily armed men surrounding the helicopter? You didn't say anything about hordes of heavily armed men!"

"Are you certain?" Edgar, if anything, seemed slightly amused.

"Yes!" I snapped, "Phrases like 'heavily armed men' tend to stick in the memory! What are they _doing_ there?"

Edgar sat down and motioned for Locke and me to do the same, "According to reports, your sister was, if not directly responsible, at least the _cause _of death for a great many of your countrymen. Are you thirsty, by any chance?"

"No!"

"He's thirsty, Edgar," Locke said quickly, "So, Stor's for your protection?"

"Partially," the king nodded, "Terra Branford is a very powerful individual, and I would much rather that _my_ countrymen didn't meet the same fate as Firmament's."

"So they're there to _kill_ her?" I said, and stood up, "I swear to the gods, if you-"

"Easy, Firma," Locke forced me back into my seat, "I'm sorry, Edgar, but we had a tough time of it in Narshe. It got messy."

"I understand," Edgar smiled magnanimously, "Certainly, if your place-" he quickly gestured at me, "-I would probably react the same way. However, rest assured that Stor is also there to _preserve_ Terra's life against any potential threat. Provided that she...isn't totally lost, his teams will prevent anyone from getting to her."

"And I suppose that if she _is_ lost, then you'd let them-"

"Preserve the lives of the citizens of Figaro, yes," the king said, "As is written in their charter."

"Well, that answers that question, then," I said shortly, "Look; I'm the only family she has. Every minute I'm away from her is a minute in which something could go catastrophically wrong."

"You think that's likely, Trainee?" Aston cut in.

"I think it's _possible_, sir," I nodded, "Which is why I don't understand why you want me _here_. I have no idea what state she's in-"

"Mentally?"

"-yes, sir," I said, "But-"

Aston smiled, and this time I thought there was a faintly patronising edge to his grin, "As I understand it, Trainee, you haven't been trained in diagnosing or treating mental illnesses. How could you expect to be of any help?"

"With respect, sir, I could stop someone who _is_ trained in diagnosing or treating mental illnesses from taking a high-speed ball of rock to the face," I spread my hands, "As _I_ understand it, 'highly regarded psychiatrists' tend to be quite expensive to replace."

"Indeed," Aston's eyebrow quirked slightly, "In any case, Trainee, the _reason_ why you are here is that I am taking personal supervision of this case. As you're the Sentinel who has spent the most time with Miss Branford, any information you have may be vital to-"

"I don't have anything," I said, abruptly, "Nothing about her mental state, anyway."

"Nothing?"

"Yes, nothing!" I flared momentarily. For a moment I thought about letting them know what the mystery voice had said, but decided that stories like that would probably get me committed right along my sister, "Sorry, sir. She's been catatonic ever since we found her."

"That's...concerning," Aston said finally.

"Indeed," a glass clinked gently on the table, and Edgar slid me a glass filled with some amber liquid that smelled strongly of alcohol, "I think it would be useful if you told us everything that happened to you at Narshe. And Locke-" the king fixed the thief with a severe expression, "_-every_ last detail this time, please."

I had to admit, I knew when I was beaten. As much as I wanted to be out of this situation and back to dealing with Terra, I knew that neither King Edgar or the Father Superior were about to let us walk out the door without giving a full account of our actions. They got it, too – it became immediately obvious that both of these men were masters at extracting every last possible drop of information from what was presented to them, and no amount of vague hand-waving or noncommittal shrugs were able to conceal some of our more dubious actions or, in my case, some of the stranger happenings in the mines. Finally, however, and after what seemed like an age of questioning the king sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he did so.

"This is...puzzling," he said, using much the same tone that Aston had used earlier, "As usual, Locke, instead of answers you've returned with just more questions."

"Guess I have a gift for that, eh?" Locke replied shortly. He looked about as beaten and drained as I felt.

"Indeed," Edgar's lips pressed together, "The main mystery here is the one surrounding the Titans. Where did they go? Weapons like that don't just disappear."

"'Depends what they were after, I guess," I said quietly, "The Empire's got a lot of cash, but it's not going to waste it dropping three Titans half a world away if Narshe hadn't found something either very valuable, or very powerful."

"Powerful enough to vanish three Titans, you think?" for a moment, I saw the faintest glimmer of hope in Edgar's face, "Still, it doesn't explain how Terra came to be in the mines."

Locke grinned nastily, "Well, it seems to me that if whatever it is down there can just up an' vanish three Titans, then it can probably do whatever it damn well pleases – if you'll pardon my Zozenian, Edgar."

"I think further speculation on this matter is pointless until you find out more about what's down there, your Majesty," Aston said, "We have two more immediate problems right here in this castle."

"Two?" Edgar's eyebrows went up, "Terra, and-"

"Trainee Sentinel Branford, of course," suddenly, I found myself pinned by Aston's intense stare, "This young man was afflicted with a seizure whilst in the mines _and_, at a similar time, reported hearing a voice in his mind. Both of those events are extremely concerning."

"Hold on a second, sir-" I began, but was quickly overridden by my superior.

"Let me put this in perspective for you, Trainee," Aston said, "In the last week you've endured more than most people ever will. I don't want to repeat what's happened to you, but suffice it to say most people would, by this point, be starting to crack."

"You...think I'm going mad from stress, sir?"

"It's a possibility, Trainee," the Father Superior sat back, "And considering what you are, I would tend to err on the side of caution."

"I understand, sir, but-"

"There is also," he continued, with the air of someone delivering a coup de grace, "the matter of the...altercation in the snow. I'll spare you the details, Trainee, but our regulations require that any Sentinel who has..."

"Killed someone, sir," I said bluntly.

"Indeed," he said, and coughed discreetly, "Any Sentinel who has killed someone must be removed from active duty until such point as a qualified counsellor has declared them fit to work once again."

"Hang on, I'm being _sectioned_?"

"To be frank, I had half a mind to place you on leave even _before_ you mentioned that event," Aston said severely, "You need _rest_, Firmament."

"Thank you for the sentiment, sir, but..." I ran my fingers through my hair, "How am I ever going to get anywhere with this on my permanent record?"

Edgar's mouth quirked, ever so slightly, "If you cooperate, there's no reason why this should ever _reach_ your permanent record. Isn't that so, Aston?"

"Oh, _now_ I understand," Locke laughed shortly, "Why didn't yer just _say_ you were blackmailing him? That would've kept it simple."

"You know, Locke," Aston sighed, "You're very good at what you do, but Callista help me sometimes you are _incredibly_ trying."

"Seems to me that I'm not t'only one, Aston."

"With respect, sir," I said icily, "You _are_ blackmailing me."

"Not quite," Edgar said reassuringly, "We-"

Exactly _what_ Edgar's reasoning was for his blatant blackmailing not being blackmail I never found out, as at that exact moment a truly hideous whine cut through the room, raising in intensity and pitch until it managed to find the exact point where it resonated with my molars.

"What the _he-_" I began.

"Fire alarm," Edgar said casually. As I watched, he flipped up a part of the table that I could have sworn was totally unremarkable, "Hold on, let me find out where it is."

"Fifty gil says it's the medical wing," I muttered, nudging Locke, "Seriously, I _said_ this was a bad idea."

"Good guess, Firma," Edgar said sharply, "It's in the hospital."

"Right," I stood up, "Your Majesty, Father Superior – may I be excused? I think I should go and investigate that alarm personally...y'know, just in case."

"Of course," the king nodded, "Good luck."

"Thank you," I said, and clapped Locke on the shoulder, "You're with me, mate. I need someone to show me the way to the hospital."

"Oh, _good_," Locke said, but got to his feet regardless, "Well, I suppose that I may as well see this through to the end."

"Yeah," I smiled glassily, "I really hope it's not what I think it is, but if it is...well, stay behind me and try to look inflammable, okay?"

The very instant we were out the door, we ran like hell. It didn't take a genius to realise that the combination of a potentially explosive young woman and a squad of Figaran's best and brightest was already pretty deadly, but the thought of innocent and _already_ injured people being thrown into the mix created a situation that really, _really_ didn't bear thinking about. As far as I was concerned, however, the worst bit of this whole damn situation was that I had _told_ them that this was a possibility.

"It's the ol' chain of command, Firma," Locke said, after I had mentioned this for the nth time, "Sometimes when you're at the top, you can lose sight of what's going on at the bottom."

"Oh, so we're at the bottom, are we?" I said acidly.

"Ain't much below us but bedrock, pal," he laughed shortly, "Didn't y'see how quickly they decided you were going nuts? Wouldn't be much of a leap from that for them to be able to disregard everythin' you suggest."

"I'm familiar with that, believe me," I said, "I've been bottom-rung cannon fodder my whole life, and –oh, good lord."

"Ah, shite," Locke agreed.

The instant we rounded the corner any remaining hope of mine that this had been a nice, simple fire drill flickered and died. Right before a thick, green-coloured door stood a line of hefty-looking unsmiling men, wearing the same uniform as those who had greeted us at the helipad, and although I had trouble seeing past their bulky frames what I _could_ see was absolute bedlam. The hospital reception area was absolutely _teeming_ with people dressed in medical scrubs, rushing around as best they could attending to other who, given their long, green gowns, were probably patients.

"Wow," I said, once I found my voice again, "This looks like a lockdown."

"I think you're right, pal," Locke said, and strode up to the officers, "Heya guys, you-"

"This is none of your concern, Cole," one of the soldiers said, harshly, "Move along, before you get yourself in trouble."

"Good gods, is there anyone who _doesn't_ know you?" I blinked, "How on earth are you still alive?"

"Guys, this is Firmament Branford," Locke said, ignoring me, "He's a Mage Knight, and I'm willing to bet that at this very moment Stor's shoutin' something like 'Where in the blue blazes is that damn scrawny bastard?'"

The soldier gave Locke a look that suggested he was probably spot on, "Um..."

"Look," Locke cut in, "Jus' get one o' your lads here to take us to Stor, eh? What difference will one of you make when you've all got assault rifles? Nobody's going to break in."

"...fine," the soldier said, "Gravis? Take these two to Stor and be back here on the double."

"Sir!" one of the interchangeable soldiers shouldered his weapon and jerked his head towards Locke and myself, "You two heard the corporal; follow me!"

The door creaked open slowly at Gravis' touch, and I suddenly found myself the subject of every gaze in the packed hospital area. There was an air of curiosity as people studied the new arrivals, and a subtle, but faintly audible mutter began to pick up amongst the seats as we picked our way carefully through the packed room.

"Nasty atmosphere in here, pal," Locke remarked quietly to me, "I get the feeling this could turn ugly very quickly if we don't get this sorted out."

"Maybe," I said, and looked around as surreptitiously as I could. Maybe the man was right, although all I could get from people's faces was a faint sense of sullenness coupled with fear. That didn't seem unreasonable, considering that they were locked in a hospital and surrounded by burly men with big guns. Shrugging, I followed Gravis through the reception area and out into the hospital corridor.

The soldier led us at a brisk pace through a series of corridors that I could've sworn were lifted wholesale from IAF Wareydon, right down to the shiny blue skirting boards. There were medical staff and patients here as well, but the general mood I got from them was far more scared and panicky than it had been back in reception. The feeling only got worse as we headed for our destination, and I began to feel deeply uneasy about what we might actually find when we got there.

Our target, when we finally reached it, was a ward door that seemed largely unremarkable, provided one ignored the enormous barricade that had been hastily piled up nearby. A squad of soldiers knelt behind the rough defences, their guns nervously trained on the doors for any sign of movement, while another group seemed to be in the process of setting up a more rigorous set of barricades slightly further away.

"Well, this sure looks like a fire drill to me," I said, weakly, "Barricades, men with guns..."

"Yeah, right," Locke snorted, "Let's go find Stor and get this whole mess sorted out, shall we."

"That sounds like an excellen-"

"Cole...and Branford, correct?" Stor's voice rumbled from somewhere on high, "I assume you're here because of Terra Branford, right?"

"You know, for a big man you're bloody quiet!" I snapped as I turned around, "Why on earth does everyone try to sneak up on me, anyway?"

"Don't worry about him, Stor – he's had a bad day," Locke gently waved me off, "Yeah, we're here 'cause Firma here thought that the fire alarm meant somethin' fishy was going on. I guess he was right, right?"

"Yeah," Stor nodded, and cast his gaze my way, "Your sister seems to be the excitable sort."

"In eighteen years, I don't think anyone's _ever_ described her as 'excitable'," I remarked, "What in the world's going on in there?"

The commander looked a little uneasy, "We're not entirely certain. The only thing we do know is that she has two Sentinels trapped in there along with one of my men."

"Has she – my word, I can't believe I'm saying this – has she made any, uh, demands?"

"She hasn't tried to talk to us at _all_, Firmament," Stor said, and for a moment there was a hint of frustration in his voice, "Our first attempt to normalise the situation was...unsuccessful, too."

"Define 'unsuccessful', if you please," I pressed.

"Aye," Locke added, "Tha' sounds like a spectacular understatement."

"She blocked us with a wall made entirely of fire," the big man said, and I suddenly spotted a nasty looking weal on the side of his neck, "Two of my men are down with severe burns, and until we work out a way around her little barricade our plan is just to wait her out."

"That may be problematic, mate – Terra's pretty damn patient," I scratched my head, "How're your men?"

"Stable."

"That's a relief; I'll heal them up once we've calmed Terra down a bit."

"D'ya have any thoughts on how we're going to do that, by the way?" Locke shifted, nervously, "Walls of fire 'n enraged witches aren't exactly my cup of tea, if yer get my drift."

"I don't really like the term 'witch', much, y'know," I said.

"We've got a team setting up across the way," Stor gestured vaguely at the ward door, and I got the distinct feeling that I was being completely ignored, "Once I give the signal, they'll launch a couple of stun grenades through the window and we'll move in."

"That won't work," I said, firmly, "She'll recover too quickly."

"Hmm," Stor rumbled, "Are you certain?"

"It's been tried," I smiled glassily, "Believe me; it's been bloody well tried."

"How about tranquilisers?" he suggested, "It's a little unorthodox, but if-"

"That won't work either," I said quickly, "Not unless you've got any Morcum's, anyway. Besides, you've still got to _hit_ her, and if she's as agitated as you say then her shielding will be like a bloody brick wall."

"How about gas? We have some-"

"She can hold her breath for a _long_ time. Look, Stor-" I quickly moved to interrupt his objection, "-even if you managed to capture her, what are you going to do with her? We're talking about someone who can generate fire at _will_, y'know. Handcuffs aren't going to make her any less lethal."

There was a long silence, and then Stor finally snapped, "Fine. What do _you_ suggest, Firmament?"

"Simple," I looked over at the door, "Let me go in there and talk to her. I'm sure I can make her see reason."

"Uh, Firma, pal?" Locke cut in, "I know yer worried about yer sister 'n all, but haven't you forgotten something?"

"Have I?" I frowned, "What, exactly?"

"Ah, nothing major. Jus', y'know, that _wall of fire_ blockin' the way?"

"Oh, that."

"Aye – that," Locke snorted, "Jus' that little detail."

"It's not a problem," I held up my hands, "Look, guys, I don't have time to explain this to you, but please, just take it on faith for now that Terra's not going to hurt me. She's not going to be _able_ to hurt me."

"Are you sure, Firmament?" Stor looked concerned, but I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in there, "You aren't going to do something reckless, are you?"

"No!" I said, perhaps more forcefully than I should have, "Please, Stor. I'm her brother; if anyone's going to make her able to see sense, it'll be me. There just..._isn't_ an alternative."

There was another long pause, and I could almost hear the cogs whirring in Stor's head. Finally, but with a rather disapproving expression on his face, he said, "Fine, Firmament. Go ahead, but don't do anything stupid."

"I'll try to keep that in mind, Stor," I said, rather sardonically, "Thanks."

I'm going to take a short break here to fill up on more painkillers and black coffee, but since we've stopped I may as well take time out to explain something that my hangover-riddled mind thinks hasn't already been pointed out. If it has, well, tough – I'm in pain, and my favourite activity when I'm in pain is making other people feel it to a level that's quite possibly unethical, so you're going to have to deal with it.

I said, just up there, that I didn't have time to explain to Stor and Locke exactly _why_ Terra couldn't (and can't) hurt me with those horrible walls of flame and other shenanigans that had managed to make such an embarrassment of Figaran's finest. However, I'm _quite_ sure that time is something that you guys aren't exactly lacking, so I may as well try and explain what's going on here while I wait for the kettle to boil.

The trouble here, I guess, is that actual, good-old-fashioned, peer-reviewed scientific research into magic is about as infantile as you can get – a fact that hasn't been helped by a half-time apocalypse and the classification of just about anything that could possibly advance our knowledge in the area. Even so, the question of why Terra and I were largely immune to each other's magical abilities was always a fascination of the scientists at the Magitek Research Facility (back when it wasn't a crater, anyway), and I can very easily recall a number of really, _really_ exciting afternoons spent either inside of or being prodded by a lot of shiny equipment so that they find out why this was.

Would you like to know what the answer _is_? Well, I don't bloody know – and if I was feeling really cynical, I'd say that those important-looking men in their lab coats didn't know either. When pressed, they tended to wave their arms a lot, cough nervously, and eventually mutter something about 'quantum harmonisation levels' or something else that managed to sound dreadfully scientific while at the same time meaning exactly squat. As far as I know, however, the data is still out there somewhere, so if you happen to hold a postgraduate in Magitechnology or an associated field, feel free to go look it up, because I'd love to know the answer.

For the rest of you, I hope you now understand what I mean about making you feel my pain. Just think about how many minutes I've spent cheerfully wasting your time, and I'm sure you'll get the idea.

Magical immunity or no, I still felt the same thrill of fear as everyone else when I threw open the ward doors and stared straight into the heart of Terra's little inferno. Although I still had no idea whether or not she'd gone totally nuts in there, I had to admit that she was still without par when it came to making enormous twisting vortices of flame, particularly ones that burned without any visible source of fuel. A small puff of warm air passed over me, and I knew from prior experience that I was feeling a very, very small fraction of what the poor, sweating buggers immediately behind me were getting.

"Now _that's_ impressive," Locke commented, "How's she managed to make it so bloody hot without wrecking the castle?"

"It's _magic_, Locke," I pointed out, "It's not _supposed_ to obey the laws of physics. Anyway..."

"Are you really going in there, pal?" he said nervously, as I took my first step forwards, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely," I said, and stepped into the flames. The fire hissed and licked at my clothing, no more dangerous than a pleasantly warm breeze, and the howling winds did little more than ruffle my hair. Feeling rather self-satisfied at this particular demonstration of magical prowess, I pressed onward through my sister's firestorm.

The ward on the other side was not, as I had half-expected, a charred, burned-out skeleton of its former glory. In fact, if it weren't for the enormous conflagration right behind me (which was, admittedly, a _big_ if) this could very easily have been any ward in any hospital in the world.

On the other hand, the hostage situation was pretty much _exactly_ as advertised. Three people -two Sentinels and one of Stor's men- were lying on the floor with their hands clasped tightly over the backs of their heads. At the sound of my approach one of them quickly glanced in my direction, and gave me a look that was one half hope and one half total, pants-wetting terror.

"That, of course, was quite impossible," she said, in a voice so shaky, and yet so demanding that it could have only belonged to one person, "Nobody can walk through fire like that – especially not a Trainee Sentinel."

"Sentinel Asaline, sir," I nodded a quick greeting, "I've come to, um, try and resolve this hostage situation. Uh...where's my-"

Asaline's eyes flickered over to my side, but it was too late. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the barest hint of emerald-green before I was roughly tackled and sent flying to the floor amid a great clatter of equipment. Before I could recover a great weight landed on my solar plexus, and a pair of hands wrapped themselves around my throat and _squeezed_.

"Terr-" I began hoarsely, but was interrupted by a blast of flame that was, from the feel of it, hot enough to melt steel, "Seriously, Tee, cut that out!"

There was a hoarse, almost incoherent scream from the person sitting on my chest, before my head was picked up and slammed into the floor hard enough to make me see stars. When they finally cleared, the view I saw sent chills down my spine. Whatever had happened to Terra over the past week or so had, clearly, left some kind of dreadful impression on her. Her expression, hidden somewhere behind that mass of unkempt emerald curls, was contorted unnaturally by a combination of rage and some horrible fear, and her breathing was erratic, almost to the verge of out-and-out hysteria. I felt a cold sweat break out on my brow as I realised that, in this state, she was quite capable of doing _anything_.

"Gods_damn_it, Tee!" I said, perhaps unwisely given the situation, "Cut this sh-"

There was a subtle shift in weight as my sister leaned in, and fixed me with a crazed expression that suggested, very strongly, that I was about three seconds from having my spine split in two.

"Tell me how you've managed this," she said, in a tone that made my skin crawl, "Tell me why you're immune to my magic or I swear to the gods that I'll break your neck!"

"I-what?" I was, genuinely confused by the question, "What do you-"

My head exploded in pain as it was rammed, hard, into the floor once again, "Tell me!" she screamed, but this time there was a slightly different note in her voice, "Tell me why all of you can't just _leave me alone_? Why do you have to be here with your needles and those guns and that sound in my hea-"

I took that moment to act, and bucked my hips upwards in an attempt to throw her clean over my head. Her crazed expression turned quickly to surprise as she went sprawling face-first into a gurney, but as I scrambled to my feet she gave another warlike scream and found her footing with startling speed. For a moment we faced each other across the ward, the only sound her hoarse, panicked breathing.

"Please calm down, Tee," I said gently, "I know what you've been through hell, but it's over now. You're safe."

"Safe? _Safe?_" she screeched, and snatched a hypodermic syringe from a nearby table, "You see this?"

"Uh, yes," I gave a nervous nod in response. Magic was one thing, but the needle on that syringe looked like it could do me some serious damage if it got the chance.

"That woman over there in grey was trying to stab me with it when I woke up," Terra snarled, "What do you think it contains?"

"As I have said _countless_ times, I was trying to _administer_ it," Asaline corrected her, "It's a mild sedative – it's _meant_ to calm you down!"

"Listen to her, Tee!" I pleaded, trying desperately not to stare at the tip of that sharp, sharp needle, "Look - you've been through a lot. Please, just let-"

"Tee? Who or _what_ is this 'Tee'?" my sister snarled, and started a slow, deliberate advance, "My name is _Terra_."

"I know!" I agreed, backing away from the tip of that syringe. Unfortunately, there was a rather limited amount of ward space behind me, and before long I found myself with my back quite literally against the wall, "Terra! Would you _please_ put that needle down?"

"Why should I listen to you?" she snarled, drawing closer with every step. In a moment, that sharp, sharp tip was going to be in range of my jugular, "You could be one of _them_!"

"One of _whom_?" I tried not to wince as the syringe grazed my throat, "Tee, I'm on your side!"

"Prove it!"

"_How?_" I shouted, loudly enough that my sister took a step backwards in surprise, "For gods' sake, Tee – what in the world can I possibly say to you that's going to make you put that sodding thing down?"

"Just tell _me what's going on_!" she cried, "Tell me who I am, or why I'm here, and why there's this woman trying stab me with a syringe and-and-" tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and quite suddenly it looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, "Tell me how you've just walked through my fire and why t-there's this sound in my head that I can't block out..."

"Wait –tell you who you are?" I blinked, "You don't know who you _are_?"

"No!"

"You have _amnesia?_" my mind reeled, and at that exact moment the only phrase I could possibly think of was, "You've got to be kidding me."

"Am I smiling?" Terra's eyes narrowed, "Does it _look _like I'm kidding you?"

"No no, of course not," I said quickly. Suddenly, I had to think faster than I had done in a long time, "Well, this explains...a lot, then. Okay, what about me? Do you feel _anything_ when you look at me?"

"You're different from everyone else," Terra said, after a moment's introspection, "There's something important about you, but I don't know. I don't know _anything!_"

"Try to stay calm, Terra," I said, in my best consoling voice. As far as I was concerned, I didn't want any hysterical outbursts while Mr. Syringe was still in the neighbourhood, "Right. You, uh, may not believe this, but since you _don't_ know me I'd better get one thing clear."

"What's that?" Terra's grip intensified around the syringe.

"I'm your brother, Tee," I swallowed, and pressed onwards, "Your twin brother. My name is Firmament Branford, and the reason you're hearing something in your head is-" I concentrated for a second, and Terra's eyes suddenly went wide as a crackling ball of electricity suddenly banged into existence in the palm of my hand, "-because I'm a Mage Knight, too."

"You're my _brother_?" Terra gasped. There was a pause, and then the syringe bounced lightly off the floor, "My _brother_?"

"There's a definite resemblance there," Asaline added, "Now that I see you two together, anyway."

"_My_ brother?"

"Shut down the fire, Tee," I said, tenderly, "Nobody's going to hurt you, okay? I'm not going to let them."

"I'm s-sorry," Terra said quietly, and the wall of fire disappeared in a flash of ruby light, "I-I was so scared when I woke up. I thought..." my heart went out to her as tears began trickling down her cheeks, "I thought they were going to kill me! I didn't know what else to do!"

"Oh, _Tee_," I touched her consolingly on the shoulder, and with a sudden cry she rushed, sobbing, into my arms, "Oh...ah, well – look, Tee, I'm sure that it'll be okay," I looked quickly at Asaline, who was climbing unsteadily to her feet, "Are you okay, sir?"

"I'm fine, Trainee," she said, in a tone of voice that gave no indication of how terrified she had seemed earlier, "As for my fellow hostages? Well, I'm sure it's nothing that a course of therapy can't resolve. In any case-" she gestured loosely towards the ward door, "-I assume that all that noise coming from outside was castle security getting ready for a chance to play soldiers. Is that correct?"

"Uh...broadly speaking, sir," I said, and gently manoeuvred my sobbing sister so as to better address my superior.

"Well, it's a good thing you got here before they did, 'else we'd probably all be dead," Asaline smiled, ever so slightly, "Good work, Trainee. I'll go and let them know that there's no further need for their services. Oh-" her eyes flickered towards Terra for just a moment, "-I think we may need to get in contact with the Father Superior rather sooner than expected, too. I have a strong feeling that we're going to need...rather more specialist techniques."


	21. Chapter 2: Terra and the King

**Chapter Two: Terra and the King**

Well well well – amnesia, eh? I bet you're all shocked to the core by this particular dramatic development, or at least you would be if it weren't the single most common excuse for a story after 'overly muscular man with huge gun goes on killing spree amongst fascists with socialist economic policies'. We all know (or at least I _hope_ we all know) that in real life amnesia is pretty damn rare - but rock up in the wild fantasies of your average trash novel fictionist and you are, statistically speaking, more likely to get amnesia than the common bloody cold.

I will admit I can see the attraction. For example, let's say that you're a two-bit mongoloid of a writer who has, thanks to a particularly tenacious neuron, managed to cobble together a gripping, exciting situation. Unfortunately, as you're an idiot (in this example, you understand) the situation is so damn easy to resolve that it could probably be fixed up by a brain-dead monkey after a two-week bender on crystal meth. Solution? Give the monkey amnesia! Sure, it leaves a plot hole you could drive a barge through, but hey – let's ignore that too! Who's counting, right? _Right?_

At this point, you're probably sitting back and thinking 'Hold on, Firmament old bean, aren't you being both extremely patronising and rather melodramatic about this whole thing?' You know what? Yes – but for once I have a good reason. Firstly, I have at least three books in my bookcase where the plot can be summarised as 'Well, I guess that I _was_ the lost princess / had the abort codes / had the key to the ancient tomb dangling around my neck but dang it all _I just plum forgot about it!_ Isn't my face red!' Secondly, after the whole hullaballo that happened in my family as a result of the damn condition I could live, peacefully and totally happy, if I never saw or heard of it ever again. In conclusion, stop using it!

In local news, it looks like Terra and my fiancée had a fantastic time in South Figaro today, at least if their flower garlands, face paint, and grass skirts are anything to go by. Despite the faintly maniacal giggling, however, I still can't shake the feeling that there's something a little...off with Terra. I think I might check in with El Amour to see if she thinks my hunch is worth anything.

And now...the weather!

From my point of view, the rest of that day pretty much passed in a blur. Terra's amnesia had certainly caused a ripple of concern through the Powers That Be, as in almost no time at all we suddenly found ourselves up to our eyebrows in the best and brightest that the Sentinels had to offer. Personally, I had my doubts that they'd be able to do anything, but since these doubts were pretty much the result of hearing voices in my head I suspected that announcing them would probably be a really good way of assuring myself a place in the local psychiatric facility.

Still, as trying as the day had been on me, it was clearly even _more_ trying on Terra, and after a good four hours of physicals and psychometric assessments she finally announced that she had quite simply had enough and really, _really_ wanted to get some sleep. Clearly some information had managed to filter down the line, as upon this announcement every single last Sentinel immediately downed tools and quickly filed out, leaving the room feeling very quiet and very, very lonely.

"I thought that would never end," Terra said finally, "If I knew that that was all it needed to get them to leave, I'd have said that hours ago!"

"Was any of it useful?" I said, and sat down heavily on a nearby seat, "I didn't really understand what they were trying to do."

"Neither did I," she said, and smiled tightly, "I'm sure it was all very useful for _their_ research, though."

"Yeah," I agreed. There was a long, awkward silence while the both of us tried to summon up the courage to talk about something a little less superficial. Eventually, Terra visibly gathered herself up and fixed me with a stare.

"Firma," she said, quietly, and for a moment she looked more vulnerable than I had ever seen her in my life, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Tee," I smiled, "Anything."

"I-" Terra paused, and then rushed on desperately, "I kept on hearing the doctors talking about somewhere called 'Narshe'. It sounds...like something terrible happened there."

"Yeah," I shuddered at the memory of the town, all aflame, "It was pretty awful."

"It was my fault, wasn't it," she whispered, and there was once again a glimmer of tears in the corner of her eyes, "I've killed a lot of people, haven't I."

"Terra," I said firmly, and sat forward in the chair, "If you remember nothing else, I want you to remember this; what happened at Narshe _was not your fault_. You had absolutely no control over your actions."

"_What_ happened at Narshe?"

"In short? It was burned to the ground," I said, rather tersely, "You and your handlers were looking for something. We –well, I- still don't know what it is or how you became separated from those bastards – but for now, I don't care."

"You don't?"

"Tee, at the moment I'm..." my voice cracked, and I felt tears brimming in my eyes, "Tee, I'm just happy you're safe! This past week I've been so scared for you I've barely been able to think straight, and to actually have you _back_? I-I..."

Another silence followed, and then Terra coughed awkwardly, "Um, would you like a tissue? They've given me this box of them..."

"I'll be okay," I said finally, and swiped at my eyes, "It's been a rough week."

"Possibly," Terra smiled wanly, "I wouldn't know."

"Well, no," I admitted, somewhat lamely. Once again a long, awkward pause descended on the conversation, broken only by the sound of Terra's fingers drumming arrhythmically on a bedside table.

"Go ahead, Tee," I said, finally, "You may as well ask."

"I'm sorry?" she blinked, evidently surprised.

"You always drum your fingers like that when you're psyching yourself up for something," I raised my eyebrows and indicated her fingers; "So, what's the question?"

"I...well; it's silly, really," she said weakly, "I just...well, um..."

"Yeah?"

The words all came out in a rush, "Was I...was I a good sister?"

"Were you a good sister?" I echoed, and my mind whirled as I tried to think of the best way to answer it.

"Be honest," Terra pleaded, "Please. I want to know."

"Well, if you want _honesty_..." I smiled wryly, "Yeah, you were. Sure, you may have had an unholy fascination with making sure all my bloody socks were in the right place, and don't even get me _started_ on your bloody filing system, but at the same time, you...you," I paused for a moment to stop myself choking up again, "You sacrificed yourself so Kefka wouldn't kill me!"

"Really?" Terra had inclined her head and was staring at me, appraisingly, "You?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"I...don't know, really," she said, and shook her head sadly, "I want to know what kind of person I was."

"Oh," I coughed, somewhat lost for words, "Right."

"Yeah."

Another awkward silence would have descended, but right in the nick of time there was a knocking at the door, followed shortly by a familiar Kohlinglese voice, "Alright, guys! How're we doin' in here?"

"Hey, Locke," I said, thankful for the distraction, "Where've you been all day?"

"Oh, doing this and that," Locke said evasively, "Figured I'd probably be in the way in here, what with all those high-rankin' Sentinels bustling around."

"Indeed," I raised a suspicious eyebrow, "_What_ were you doing, exactl-"

"Terra!" Locke turned to greet my sister enthusiastically, and I got the distinct feeling he was rather desperately trying to change the subject, "It's good to see you up an' around. How're you feeling?"

"I'm very sorry, sir," Terra replied politely, "But I have absolutely no idea who you are."

"This is Locke Cole, Tee," I cut in, "I told you about him, remember?"

"Oh, yes!" she said, her face lighting up in sudden recognition, "The thief!"

"The _what?_" Locke turned to give me a thunderous stare, "Did you call me a 'thief' when you were talking about me, _pal_?"

"Thanks, Tee," I muttered under my breath, before giving Locke a disarming smile, "Actually, that was the, uh, condensed version."

"Oh, aye?" Locke smiled too, although for some reason his had a murderous edge, "What did you actually say?"

"Something along the lines of 'human-magpie crossbreed kleptomani – oh, what am I saying?" I threw up my hands, "You _are_ a thief, mate!"

Locke's face darkened yet further, "That's _treasure hunter, _you scrawny little limey!"

"You threatened to steal my _lungs_, Locke!" I pointed out, "And unless I'm grossly mistaken about my age, I don't really think my organs qualify as timeless antiques!"

"Well, _I-_"

There was a sudden giggle from Terra, and our argument was immediately brought to an end as we both turned to give her a somewhat bemused stare.

"You two are funny," she said, smiling easily for the first time all day, "I think I like you, Locke."

"Um…yes…well," Locke coughed, and extended a hand, "Locke Cole, treasure hunter-"

"_Thief!_" I coughed.

"_Treasure hunter_ at your service," he finished, and shook his head, "I swear, Firma, I've known you less than a week and I already want to punch your lights out."

Terra giggled again, before replying, "Terra Branford, supposed Mage Knight and…and," her face fell suddenly, "amnesiac."

"_What_?" even considering the circumstances, Locke's reaction to that news could have been just a _touch_ overblown. From my perspective, it looked like someone had slugged him in the solar plexus, "How?"

"Locke-" I began warningly, but Terra seemed to want to speak.

"The doctors said it was that thing that the Empire put on my head…the, um…" Terra looked to me for sudden support.

"Slave Crown," I said grimly.

"Yeah," she nodded, "Apparently I'm the only person who's even regained consciousness after its removal. They seemed quite excited by that."

"Can't you do anything, Firma?" Locke looked towards me, and I was stunned to see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, "With your magic and all, I'm sure-"

"If I could have, don't you think I _would_ have?" I replied coldly, "Brains are complicated things, y'know – and Locke, what in the world is wrong with _you_?"

"I'm…I'm sorry," Locke seemed at a loss, but I had a sudden unnerving sensation that he was about to do something very, very silly, "Terra, I give you my word that you'll be safe with us. Until you regain your memories, I promise that I'll protect you!"

"Oh, _Callista_."

"Be nice, Firma," Terra said, admonishingly, "Thank you, Locke!"

"Moving _on_," I said quickly, making a mental note to find out what was going on with Locke, "How's it going in the outside world?"

"Not well," Locke said, and I could see the sudden tension lines on his face, "It's all gone very quiet."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not at all," Locke shook his head, "I think you're misunderstanding me – it's not that there's no news to report, it's that no news is being report_ed_. All of the informants in and around Figaro have gone quiet."

"Gone to ground, bought off, or dead, right?" I raised my eyebrows, and Locke nodded, "That's…strange."

"Ester's investigating," he snorted, "Whether or not that'll help you sleep at night is up to you, though. The only other bit of news I've got is that Edgar would like to meet our wayward Mage Knight now that she's up and about."

"Really?" my eyebrows went up, and then something about Locke's expression clicked in my head, "_Now_?"

"Can it wait?" Terra asked, meekly, "Only I'm very tired…"

"Sorry, Terra," Locke shook his head, "Kings have this habit of making everyone else work to their schedule – you'll find that out soon enough, I'm sure."

"Oh," her face fell, "Can I at least get changed? I feel like a mess."

"If you ask nicely, I'm sure that His Majesty will be only too happy to call for his royal dressmaker, but...ah, that sounds like him now."

If I strained my ears, I thought I could make out a faint 'clip-clip' noise, echoing down the corridor from far away. After a few moments, they resolved themselves into the steady rhythmic beat of several pairs of boots thudding in unison, and I had to admit that I was at least mildly impressed with Locke's apparently superhuman hearing.

"He'll have brought a few of the heavies, I reckon," Locke remarked, casually, "Can't imagine Stor'll have let him within a mile of this place without him agreeing to at least _some_ form of escort."

"What 'heavies'?" Terra's voice rang with sudden worry, "What's going on?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, I'm sure," I sighed, and clambered wearily to my feet, "These guys just seem to have a habit of turning up."

"Don't worry, Tee; they aren't here to hurt you," Locke added, "They're just here to stop you guys from causing another, uh, incident."

"You mean stop _me_, right?" she replied accusingly.

"He can't be referring to me," I said, maybe a little smugly, "I'm incident-free."

"Are you balls!" Locke muttered, before commenting, "Ever since I've met you my life's been one sodding incident after another."

"That's hardly my fault!" I protested, "I just attract trouble."

"An' bullets."

"Bullets are a _form_ of trouble, mate," I pointed out, "And - oh my, they're..._fancy_."

At that exact moment several rather dramatically dressed men rounded the corner and quickly took up positions throughout the ward. Although their dazzling green-and-gold costumes and apparent lack of weaponry didn't immediately lend themselves to any definition of 'heavy' as I understood it, the speed with which they had deployed and the cold, alert air that surrounded the group as a whole immediately put me on edge.

"Speakin' of trouble..." Locke murmured, "These guys're the Figaran Royal Guard. Watch yourself around them, guys; they've got a bit of a..._reputation_."

"Oh?" I said, scanning them over for any hint of weaponry. After a moment, I had to admit that if they _were_ armed, they had their weapons pretty damn well concealed, "I assume you're not referring to their dress sense."

"Well, their sole purpose is to protect the King from any threat," Locke said, and added ominously, "Sometimes they get a wee bit overzealous – look, just don't any sudden moves and we'll all be fine."

Before I could voice my opinion _vis a vis_ our chances of getting gunned down by the amateur dramatics society, Edgar appeared. There wasn't any particular fanfare or any form of dramatic entrance; one moment he wasn't there, and then the next he was staring at us from the doorway with a carefully appraising eye that I wasn't entirely sure I liked.

"Your Majesty," Locke said evenly, as the king approached, "Do you think all these guards are _really_ necessary?"

"No," Edgar said, and shrugged helplessly, "On the other hand, protocol requires that the royal personage be suitably protected at all times. Given the excitement of today –no offence to you, dear lady-" he said, casting a quick glance at Terra that lasted just _slightly_ too long for my liking, "but where security is concerned I must bow to my advisors."

"Hang on; there weren't any guards when _we_ met for the first time," I pointed out, but was quickly quietened by Locke.

"They were there, pal," he said quietly, "Believe me."

"Indeed," Edgar brushed the objection aside with a smile and turned to address my sister, "My lady, on behalf of every citizen of Figaro, allow me to welcome you to Figaro Castle. I am King Edgar Roni Figaro, and you are..."

"Terra," Terra mumbled, "Terra Branford."

"Charmed, I'm sure," his eyes twinkled as he gently kissed her hand, "I'm sure our castle shall look all the prettier when graced with your radiant presence."

"I'm...what do you mean by that?" for her part, Terra sounded genuinely confused.

"My dear lady, I am simply captivated by your...exotic beauty," Edgar continued, "In all my years of travel, I have never met anyone with features as luminous and exquisite as yours. Truly-"

Locke coughed awkwardly, "I _really_ hate to interrupt this...this..."

"-hackneyed, purple prose?" I supplied helpfully. Edgar fixed me with a baleful stare.

"_Monologue_ was what I was going to say, pal, but yer right," Locke shrugged, "Edgar, don't we have more important things to be doin' than for you to be hitting on this poor girl? She's had a rough enough day as it is without being subjected to your...your..."

"-hackneyed purple prose?" I supplied, once again.

"What he said."

"I...suppose. Very well," Edgar said dubiously, before turning back to Terra, "My lady, you can rest easy here. I assure you, no harm will come to you within these castle walls. If necessary, I myself will hurl-"

"Edgar!"

"Etcetera and so forth," the king finished quickly, and kissed Terra's hand once again, "Good night, my lady. I hope to speak more later."

"Catch yer in a bit, pal," Locke clapped me on the shoulder, "You too, Terra."

"Firmament," Edgar nodded, a little stiffly. With that, both he and Locke turned to leave, taking almost all of the king's excitingly dressed royal guard with him. Once again, the ward seemed like a very empty, lonely place, and the sudden silence was almost oppressive.

"That was quick," Terra said, eventually, "I suppose he's a busy man."

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes, "So many women, so little time."

"That's not very nice," Terra said accusingly, "I liked the personal welcome."

"Tee, is it possible that you managed to miss the _whole_ subtext of that introduction?" I said acidly, "I mean, c'mon - the only things he didn't give you was a handy map to his bedroom and a signed copy of the bloody _Karma Sutra_!"

There was a short pause while my invective echoed around the ward. Terra gave me a look that suggested that I was being unduly cynical, but thankfully said nothing further on the matter.

"Where do you think he took your friend?" she said, "Locke sounded very serious for a moment there."

"I'm not sure," I said, "I think we may have stirred up a hornet's nest when we pulled you out of Narshe, but...I don't know. Look, Tee," I gestured at a handy bedside clock, "it's late, and you've had a long enough day as it is. Why don't you get some sleep and we'll worry about this tomorrow?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Terra said, and yawned dramatically, "Do you think it'll be safe for us to sleep here?"

"If it _weren't_ safe, he would have moved you already," I pointed out, "He's a smarmy, womanising, silver-tongued slick bastard of a man, but he's clearly no fool. You'll be fine here."

"Oh? You're not staying?" Terra sounded a little downcast, "But..."

"I'm just going for a little wander, Tee," I reassured her, "I'll be back in a little while."

"But...where are you going to go? What're you going to do at this time of night?"

"What do you think I'm going to do at this time of night?" I shrugged, as if this should be obvious, "I'm going to see if there's a bloody pub!"

There may be some people who would take a rather dim view of me rushing off and leaving my poor, amnesiac sister to the fates. You know what? Too bad. It's damn near impossible to fix someone else's problems if you happen to be a bit of a wreck yourself, and to be honest by that point it was just getting to be too much effort holding myself together for her sake. I'm sure that everyone's been in a situation where you _just had to get out of there_, and this was no different.

Despite what I had said to Terra, my actual plan was pretty much to wander aimlessly while I tried to get my head in order. As it turned out, that plan lasted about as long as it took for me to walk into a bar, at which point I decided that I should probably go and do what I said I was going to do. Besides, I _was_ probably owed a drink considering everything that had happened recently. A drink...or two. Three at the outside.

The next hour passed in a blur of clinking glasses and sloshing liquids. The instant I slammed down one glass, it was gently moved to one side by the shadowy figure beyond the bar and replaced with another concoction strong enough to etch metal. At some point, food was involved - well, food was _possibly_ involved, but it was so quickly replaced with yet more alcohol that it was entirely possible it was just a figment of my imagination.

Suddenly, there was a indistinct noise from somewhere behind me, and a hand laid itself very, very tentatively on my shoulder.

"Eh? Whassu want?" I slurred, and turned around unsteadily to see a vaguely familiar face swimming gently in and out of focus, "Hey, Locke! Pull up a seat!"

"Hey, pal," Locke said, warily, "How're you doin'?"

"I'm doin' great, pal!" I replied cheerily, and then something occurred to me, "Wait...you didn't say that yer had a twin brother, Locke? Where'd he come from?" I thought about it for a moment before concluding, "It don't matter; he can pull up a seat too!"

"How much have you had to drink, Firma?" he said, and his eyes widened as he took in the extent of my debauchery stacked neatly across the bar, "Oh, _fantastic_."

"'Said it was on the house," I grinned madly, "I've got to say, the service here is _amazin'_."

"Yeah...I may have to talk to them about that," Locke said slowly, and lowered himself into a seat. Almost immediately, a glass of strong-smelling amber liquid was placed in front of him, "How...how have you drunk this much without ending up in the hospital? Hell, how are you still _alive_?"

"Weelll..." I began, swaying gently back and forth on the chair, "Professor Cid says that we have the most...most advanced antidote delivery systems in the world. It...it in-inactivates the ethanol 'fore it gets into my bloodstream. You see all this?" I waved vaguely at the stacks of glasses across the bar, "I had to drink alla this jus' to overload the damn thin'!"

"'We'?" Locke's eyebrow may have jumped slightly, but I couldn't be sure, "You mean you an' Terra?"

"Yeah," I said, and felt a cold stab of pain through my gut, "Me an' Terra."

Locke paused for a moment, and then downed his drink in a single gulp. It was added smoothly to one of the stacks, and another slid gently into place beneath his hand.

"This isn't going to help, Firma," he said, seriously, "Not in the end."

"Wha'?"

"All this," he said, looking carefully at the piles of glasses, "It might help you in the short term, but you know what? You're going to wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache and you're still going to be a refugee and your sister's still going to have amnesia. Alcohol ain't going to fix _those_ problems."

"'Course it can," I said confidently, "You just haven't drunk enough to see that yet. Why don't you 'ave-"

"Firma, take it from someone who's been here before," Locke shook his head, "This isn't going to do the blindest bit of good. It's rough, pal – I know what you're going through, and-"

"Like _hell_ you know what I'm going through, you damn thief!" I snarled suddenly, showing Locke with spittle in the process, "How can you possibly know that?"

"Terra ain't the first person in the world to become an amnesiac, Firma," Locke's glass clinked heavily on the bar, "I…well, I knew someone who, um…"

"You knew 'someone'?" I got the feeling there was a story here, although I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to hear it, "Sounds like you were _really_ close."

"She was my fiancée, pal," Locke said dangerously.

"_You_ 'ad a fiancée?" I laughed, and then immediately regretted it, "Sorry. I'll be quiet now."

"Good," he continued, "Now listen up. Maybe you'll get a bit of perspective…"

I'm going to co-opt this tragic little tale, partially for the sake of brevity but mainly because at this point in time I was so damn drunk I have no recollection of _what_, exactly, the Kohlinglese Kleptomaniac said. Thankfully, however, Locke has seen fit to subject me to this story again and again over the years, so I'm just going to cobble together a composite of the different tellings and hope that nobody notices the difference.

Observant readers may remember that, a little while back, Locke mentioned that he had a more responsible brother who used to watch the store while he wandered around the world looking for fountains of youth and such. Everyone remember that? Good. Right, well, the rather crucial point that Locke missed out before was that he didn't wander around the world _alone_. Actually, and in the truest traditions of every roguish adventurer everywhere, Locke had an alluring sidekick with a sexy accent and an extremely…limited wardrobe. Her name was Rachel, and she was the only child of an extremely wealthy steel magnate whose name, unfortunately, eludes me at this time.

If you're anything like me, however, you aren't worried by little details like that. _You're_ probably asking the same question that I was at the time, which goes along the lines of 'I say old bean, how in the _world_ did Locke Cole, of all people, manage to attract the attentions of an attractive upper-class socialite?' Well, to hear Locke tell it, Rachel was the sort of rich girl who thought that hobnobbing with the well-to-do was just too damn _boring_ for a girl of her age. She wanted excitement, and as far as she could see the seedy underbelly of Kohlinglen, with its crime and its hardship (to say nothing of its tuberculosis) was just what she thought she was looking for.

To cut a _painfully_ long story short - she was totally wrong, and things were right on the verge of going extremely badly for poor Rachel (to, uh, be circumspect about it) when Locke, at this point a dashing young scoundrel stepped in and saved the day. The rest was pretty much fate; she was smitten by this strangely honourable thief, he was smitten by her dressmaker's apparent material shortage, and when he suggested that she join him in searching the world over for artefacts and whosamacallits she jumped at the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge. They skipped town just ahead of her daddy's heavies and spent the next three years scouring the globe, having wild adventures and being, in general, just young idiots in love.

Unfortunately, they were star-crossed lovers, and the tragic end to this tale came, predictably, just as Locke had gotten up the courage to propose. He'd gotten a lead that there was a ancient underground temple up near Kohlinglen and suggested that they check it out. This was a bluff, of course; as with anything within a fifty mile radius of that damnable city it had been picked clean years ago, but Locke had planned on asking Rachel on marrying him in front of its crumbling altar. She said yes, everybody was happy, and they were on their way to tell her father the happy news when fate decided that it, like everyone else, had had enough of this whole story.

You see, the only way into this temple was an old rope bridge. To put this in perspective, by 'old' I mean 'well in advance of half a millennia', and when I say 'rope' I really mean 'decomposing vines and bits of twigs'. This thing was probably incapable of supporting the weight of a ant, let alone two fully grown adults who were, at the moment of disaster, skipping across it with nary a care in the world.

Clearly, Rachel realised that something was wrong first, and in an act of true selflessness she hurled herself at Locke, knocking him onto firm ground just as the bridge gave way and plunged our young socialite into the abyss. For his part, Locke somehow managed to retrieve her unconscious body (to this day I have no idea how; I've run the numbers and the Sentinels would've gone in with ten fully equipped specialists as a _minimum_) and dragged her all the way back to Kohlinglen.

To say her father was displeased with this series of events would be a mild understatement, but we'll return at this point to that nice bar in Figaro Castle; Locke can probably explain it better than I.

"He wanted to run me out of town," Locke said thickly, "Heck, he wanted to have me killed at first, but I think...I think he saw how much I truly loved her."

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded indistinctly. To be honest, I was long, long past caring, but Locke wasn't about to be stopped by a little thing like that.

"He let me stay with her in hospital until she recovered-"

"Wait, she didn't die? She fell head-first into a chasm and she _survived_?" I thought about this and nodded approvingly, "That's one tough cookie."

"She survived, but..." Locke stared deep into his drink, "She didn't remember anything. Not me, not our engagement. Nothing. 'Course, it didn't take long for her father to run me out of town for good after that. All she knew was that I was making her dad miserable, and that turned her against me too..."

"So you hit the bottle, right?"

"For six months," he said bitterly, "Holed up in a small town called Taemarith just south of Kohlinglen and drank my savings away. Thought I was going to die some days; hoped I was, some of 'em."

"I think I'm beginning to understand," I said, finally, "You don't want me to spend the next-"

"I ain't done, pal," Locke cut in, "You remember when the Empire bombed Kohlinglen, yeah?"

"You mean the attack that killed your brother?" I nodded, "Yeah."

"Well, they also hit my Rachel's family mansion. Blew it to smithereens."

"Oh," I really didn't want to ask the next bit, but I knew he was waiting for it, "Rachel too, right?"

"Yeah," he said, and downed his drink in one, "But y'see, just before she died, she remembered everythin'. _Everythin'_, Firma. Apparently, the last thing she said before she died was my name."

"My word, Locke. I'm sorry," I shook my head, "That's rough. I think I get why you were acting so strange in front of Terra. Would I be right in saying that her amnesia's brought back a lot of bad memories? If you'll, uh, pardon the expression, that is."

"Aye," he said, "An' that's why I can't stand to see you in here wallowin' in your own self-pity. Your sister's scared and alone up in that ward, and you're wastin' time down here drinkin' until your...your antidote deliverymajig fails? I'm not saying you ain't got problems of your own, pal, but you need to put those on the back-burner until she's back on her feet. It's-"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," I said, and ran my fingers through my hair, "I've probably been out 'wandering' for long enough as it is. Get me a bucket, mate, and stand back. This promises to be moderately unpleasant."

I should probably describe exactly what I meant by 'this'. By now, you've probably deduced that there's a fairly large set of magical disciplines that dovetail rather nicely with classic medicine, and one of these is the removal or _in-situ_ destruction of various toxins like snake bites, heavy metals or that old classic, alcohol!

Actually, I think I'm going to use that last one as an example. Before I came along, the classic method of dealing with a Saturday night special in was to stick the stupid drunk bastards in a bed and leave 'em until they could walk unaided. This changed a little when I started getting steady employment as we could literally bring someone in, magically purge them, and throw them back out onto the streets within five minutes of them stumbling through our doors. As far as the hospital was concerned, it freed up beds, saved on money, and stopped our valuable doctors and nurses' time from being taken up by some berk who had drunk one too many dirty pints. As far as the drunks were concerned…it wasn't so great. The process really defies description, but the closest I can probably come is the feeling that your head is being fed to a steel press while a bunch of roided-out gorillas work your ribcage over with twelve-pound lump hammers. In all honesty, if I was given a choice between being purged and living with a two-day hangover, I'd probably take the hangover.

For that matter, we'll also skip a lurid description of the actual purging itself. Let's just say that it was a testament to both the endurance and the durability of my oesophagus and leave it at that, shall we? I'm sure you get the picture.

It was late by the time I got back to Terra's ward, and although the hospital itself had settled down for the night the same could not be said of the Royal Guard watching over my sister. Their alert, stern gazes played over me as I approached, and although there were only two sentries in front of the door I had the distinct, unnerving sensation that I was being observed by many more.

"Firmament Branford, correct?" one of the guards asked, in a cold, hard tone of voice that brooked no mischief. I nodded mutely, cowed into silence by the tense atmosphere.

"You're late," he observed bluntly, "Miss Branford has been asking after you for some time now."

"Sorry about that," I winced, "May I go in?"

The guard looked over at his comrade, who nodded curtly. Quickly, the two guards took a hold of the ward doors and opened them wide, allowing me into the large, darkened room. As soon as I was in the doors were immediately shut behind me, cutting off the light from the corridor and plunging me into darkness.

"Terra?" I said quietly, "Are you awake?"

There was no response, but as my eyes adjusted I thought I could make out a dim, flickering glow from a little private room just separate from the main ward and, with a mixture of curiosity and concern, padded over to take a look. As I had half suspected, the source of the glow was my sister, who was staring, transfixed, at a small ball of fire that was hovering gently just above her palms. She gave no notice that I was even there, and continued to gaze into the heart of the flame until I finally walked up and snapped my fingers in front of her eyes.

"Oh, Firma," she shook her head, and the flame flickered out, "You were gone a...long time."

"I'm sorry, Tee," I said, addressing the hurt in her voice, "I shouldn't have left you alone. How're you feeling?"

"I'm doing okay, I think," Terra smiled bravely, but I realised, with a sudden stab of guilt, that she had been crying buckets, "I keep thinking that this is some kind of horrible dream that I'm going to wake up from, but, well," she shrugged, "I haven't had much luck in that department."

"Sorry, Tee," I shook my head, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Will you be here when I finish?" she replied sharply, but her gaze softened at my expression, "I'm sorry, Firma; you're here now, and that's what matters. It's just..."

"What?"

"I don't know what! I mean, I feel angry and upset and confused and who knows what else!" she threw up her hands in frustration, "I want _answers_, Firma! I want to know who did this to me! I want to know _why_ they did this to me! Why _me_, Firma? What's so special about me?"

"Well, there's the pyrokinesis," I said, after a moment's pause, "Some people might think that's a little speci-"

"Right, well that just raises _more_ questions! I mean, take a look at this!" she grabbed her ponytail and shook it in my face, "I spent an hour just looking out of that window over there, and how many people with green hair did I see? None! Why do I have it? Why do _you_ have it?"

"Beats me," I shrugged, "'Figured it kinda came with being a Mage Knight."

"And what _is_ a Mage Knight?" Terra, clearly, needed to vent, "Everyone keeps telling me I'm a Mage Knight, but nobody tells me what it is! I'm guessing it's special, because they said _you_'_re_ a Mage Knight and you're the only one who I can hear in my head! Come to think of it, what's th-"

"Okay, Tee," I said, and patted her on the shoulder again, "I know you want answers to all these questions, but maybe it should wait until you're feeling a little better. Tzen wasn't built in a day, after all."

"But-"

"It's okay, Tee," I said gently, "It's going to be okay."

"Are you sure?" Terra said waveringly, and I thought I could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes, "Everyone thinks that I'm some kind of really important person, but I don't understand! Even that intelligence officer-"

"Ester?" I said suddenly, "Ester was in here?"

"Y-yes," Terra said, taken aback by my question, "He said that the Sentinels forgot to take some blood samples, and he was the only person with clearance who could do it..."

"Really," I decided to file _that_ bit of information away for future reference, "Anyway...Tee, you don't have to be afraid, because no matter what happens we'll face it together as a family. As long as we have each other, there isn't a damn thing that the Empire or anyone else can do to us. I promise you, Tee, we'll get through this together."

"Firma...I-I-" the thin veneer cracked, and suddenly Terra was sobbing into my shoulder, "I'm so scared!"

"I know, Tee," I said, and gave her a tight, comforting embrace, "Believe me, you're not the only one."


	22. Chapter 3: Two Little Sentinels

**Chapter 3 - Two Little Sentinels**

Before we continue with this literary forced march I would like to make a simple statement. King Edgar Roni Figaro is a utter madman who has to be stopped by any means necessary.

The reason for this is quite simple. Not long after we set the world to rights, I (high on a heady mix of victory and industrial-strength liquor) strode up to Edgar and pointed out, quite happily, that his kingdom bloody well _owed_ me for services rendered and, unless he wanted me and my political capital to catch the next ship to Tzenia, he had better well start following my carefully thought out (and helpfully annotated!) repayment program. To my surprise, the silver-tongued rat-_bastard_ actually agreed to my demands, and in addition promised me a particularly _fine_ house just outside South Figaro - provided I helped him deal with a 'few problems' that he expected to arise over the coming years.

As it happened, Edgar was completely true to his word, and the 'particularly _fine_' house that he built me is extremely nice - but, as with everything related to His Majesty, this gift had a little sting in the tale. In this case, I'm talking about line three-twenty-two of the contact which reads 'The Kingdom reserves the right to upgrade and refit The House as The Kingdom sees fit.' What does this mean? It bloody well means that whenever Edgar has an idea for a new machine at three in the morning, _I'm_ the one who comes downstairs the next day to discover my fridge now has the capacity for human thought and a gun powerful enough to bring down light aircraft. So far, Edgar has seen fit to inflict upon me doors that aren't so much anti-slam as spring-loaded, an oven that doubles as a high-yield incendiary device, a shower that could be used to disperse riots, and a washing machine that was (as far as I could tell from the wreckage) cobbled together from the carcass of an ultracentrifuge. Clearly, the man's a menace.

Don't think I'm being libellous, however; King Edgar is a well-intentioned man who really, _really_ wants to improve the lot of the average working man, but I'm pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say that we don't _need_ dishwashers that spit out plates like ninja death stars. He's a great engineer, but I would be really, really grateful if someone, _anyone, _could just write and ask him to stick to making ludicrously overblown weapon systems.

Anyway, that's enough about _that_. Let's press on.

A week passed. Even now, it seems a little strange to just say a week passed with absolutely zero incident, but that was exactly what happened. For the first three days I was wound so tight I barely knew what to do with myself, and spent every spare moment I had glued to the newspapers, radio, and news broadcasts for any hint that the underhanded events of the last week had made their way into the public domain. By and large there was nothing concrete, and occasionally there were hints that someone behind the scenes was leaning gently on the media in general. The news dutifully reported that there had been a murder in South Figaro, with a generic police appeal for witnesses, but the supposed 'separatist shoot-out' on the Trans-Kettenine express seemed to be far more prosaic than I remembered it, as did the so-called 'mine explosion' in Narshe. Neither Edgar nor Locke seemed to be willing to divulge much information on the matter (although Locke did give me a rather nasty little grin) and as the news itself had vanished by the middle of the week, I decided to let it go.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I started the long process of unwinding and coming to terms with my current situation. Quite a lot of it was very painful to recall, and I was actually very glad that I had the presence of a trained counsellor to talk with me about the traumatic events I had been through. For the first time in what felt like an age, it seemed to me that I actually had a future to look forward to once again.

For her part, Terra seemed to have come to the conclusion that if her memory wasn't going to come back on its own, she was going to damn well drag it kicking and screaming into the limelight. The very day she was released from the ward I found her down in the library surrounded by a pile of books ranging from ancient history to quantum mechanics. If she wasn't reading, she was pestering me with questions about our past, and if she wasn't doing _that_ she could be found in her room staring quizzically at a small flame, flickering in the palm of her hand.

It was this last activity that she was gainfully involved in when I finally returned from another lengthy counselling session, and as I half-stepped, half-tripped into the common area I saw a bright, ruby glow from her room flicker and go out. A moment later, Terra appeared carrying a dog-eared book that, to me, looked suspiciously like an engineering manual.

"Hey, Firma," she said warmly, "How'd the session go?"

"Same as yesterday," I said wearily, and flopped down on a handy chair, "She said that I'm making good progress, but I won't be able to return to active duty for at least another month. Probably longer, even."

"Oh dear," Terra lamented, "What're you going to do with your time?"

"I've been signed up to help out in the medical wing," I sighed, "Light duties; running things around, paperwork, that sort've thing. She thinks it'll keep my mind off everything that's happened - but anyway, that's enough about my day," I nodded at the small, battered book, "What's that you're reading?"

"This? Oh, it's nothing, really," Terra flicked it open at a random page, revealing a set of incomprehensible technical drawings, "See these? They're the plans for a...oh, hold on-" Terra snatched the book back and flicked back a couple of papers, "Ah, yes, it's an amplified camera flash for, um, incinerating enemy infantry. You see-"

"Hold on, hold on," I held up a hand, "Do I get the feeling that this is going to involve photonic amplifiers and differential magnetometers?"

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"...never mind," I said, finally, "But hold on a sec; you understand this stuff?"

"Oh yes, it's not complicated," Terra smiled brightly, "If you'll look-"

"Tee, I don't care about the flash," I said quickly, "I want to know how _you_ know how to read these plans. I mean-" I picked up the book and randomly stopped on another page, "-this...this-"

"Biohazard waste disposal unit," Terra supplied, "It's for the safe disposal of biohazards...um, into-"

"-the faces of enemy infantry," I finished for her, "Yes, I can see the little dead stick figure in the margin - but that's not the point! You have _amnesia_, Tee. You don't remember me or Alae or where we grew up or anything! How can you possibly know what all these things _are_?"

"How would I know?" she said defensively, "I don't remember how I forgot in the first place!"

"That's an irritatingly good point," I conceded, and began leafing through the little book at random, "I still want to know what the Sentinels think about your amnesia. You would've thought that by now we would've had a preliminary report or something!"

"Maybe they're just being thorough."

"And you're giving them too much credit," I snorted, "If they're anything like _my_ Sentinels, then they'r- whoa, what's _this_?"

"A drill, Firma," Terra sighed, "It's for drilling holes in things. Wood, metal...you know, whatever happens to be handy."

"Enemy infantry, for example? I think I'm seeing a trend here."

"Oh, no!" Terra sounded appalled, "You don't want to use a drill on enemy troops! That would be...wrong!"

"Well, that's go-"

"No, for enemy troops you want the chainsaw..." the book was snatched away and quickly reopened on another page, "See? Far more efficient."

"...and here I was starting to feel relieved," I said weakly, glancing over the quick sketches, "I have to admit; the hockey mask is a nice touch."

"It is, isn't it," Terra agreed, "Do you think they'll make one in my size?"

As I opened my mouth to reply I was overcome by an inexplicable thrill of fear, accompanied by a deep, painful chill that cut me to the core. Before my eyes the room faded into deep, ominous hues of blue and black, and the sound of my own heartbeat pounded in my ears. Suddenly, just as suddenly, the world returned to normal, leaving no hint that anything strange had happened save a sense of serious unease.

"What was _that_?" I asked, half to myself, half to Terra, "Hey, Tee - are you okay?"

From the look of abject horror on her face, coupled with the shallow, quick breaths, it was very clear that Terra _wasn't_ okay. I leaned in and gave her a quick but gentle shake, and felt genuine alarm begin to settle in alongside the dread.

"Tee! Come on, snap out of it!" I said loudly and snapped my fingers in front of her eyes, eliciting a sudden gasp and a long, deep breath in response. A moment later her gaze met my own, and I could see that she was feeling the same deep disquiet that I was.

"It's him, isn't it," she said breathlessly, "It's that...bad man you were telling me about."

"You mean Kefka? Hold on-" I closed my eyes, only to open them a moment later with a cry of, "Oh _sod_, it is him!"

"He's come for us, hasn't he?" Terra continued, without any indication that she had heard me, "He's come to take us away and make us his slaves again and-"

"Calm down, Tee," I said quickly, anxious to get in on her monologue before it became hysterical, "You don't even know that he knows we're here, yet."

"But why-"

"A lot's happened over the past couple of weeks, remember?" I continued, "Maybe he's just come to talk to Edgar."

"You don't know that!"

"I know that if you start making noise then he'll _definitely_ know we're here," I said sternly, "The best thing we can do is continue to lay low and try and keep below the radar."

There was a sudden, harsh rap on the door, causing both of us to jump in sudden surprise. Quickly, I motioned for Terra to go and hide in her bedroom while I walked quietly up to the door. It didn't seem likely that anyone hell-bent on causing us harm would give us the courtesy of knocking, but still...

"Terra? Firma?" Locke's voice rang out from the other side of the door, and I had never been so happy to hear his voice, "Are you there?"

"We're here, Locke," I said, and opened the door to admit a breathless and slightly sweaty Locke.

"Good - we've, uh, got a problem."

"It's Kefka, isn't it," Terra said, stepping out of her bedroom. Locke nodded familiarly at her and then fixed me with a quizzical look.

"I felt it too, mate," I shrugged, "It's a Mage Knight thing."

"Really?" there was a pause while Locke digested this bit of information, "Well, you're right - Kefka''s helicopter's just radioed in for landing clearance. His group'll be here in less than twenty minutes."

"His group?"

"Aye, he's brought friends," Locke said darkly, "Well, _a_ friend; the pilot described 'im as Kefka's 'personal bodyguard'."

"If it's who I think it is, then it'll be a her," I smiled humourlessly, "I wonder if she has any mail for me."

"You've met?"

"Once," I said, and shuddered at the memory, "It's not an occasion I'd exactly care to repeat."

"If Edgar has his way, you won't have to," Locke said, "He's going to grant Kefka's audience in his private conference chambers - y'know, the one you've been in. It's small, out of the way, an' riddled with surveillance equipment."

"He wants us to listen in?" Terra spoke up suddenly, "Why?"

"Beats me," Locke shrugged, "I reckon he's trying to show you that you can trust him, but you can take it anyway you want. Anyway, if you've got any other questions you can ask 'em when we're on our way; Kefka'll be here before long, and I don't think we want him to catch you out wanderin' the corridors."

"Hold on a sec, Locke," I said, and glanced over at my sister, "Tee, are you sure you want to do this? You can always hang back if you want."

"Thanks, Firma, but no," Terra smiled tightly, "I want to see his face. Maybe it'll bring back some memories."

"Maybe," I said, a little nervously, "Well, Locke? Lead on."

If, at this point, you thought that my greatest fear was being discovered and recaptured by Kefka you'd be wrong. You'd be justified, but you'd be wrong. As far as I was concerned all that was going to happen was that Kefka would turn up, posture with Edgar for a little while, and go away empty handed. Meanwhile, we'd have the rather dubious pleasure of observing this intercourse from the comfort of some small, stuffy room in the bowels of the castle.

The problem here was Terra. As far as I knew, almost _anything_ could have happened during her time with Kefka, and I knew him well enough to know that sunshine and lollipops wouldn't have featured heavily. Any of Terra's lost memories regarding him were almost certainly bad and probably traumatic to boot, and to be quite frank the idea of her having a sudden and explosive flashback when presented with his image was more than a little terrifying.

Locke led us at a fairly smart pace down a series of corridors that I was fairly certain I had seen before, and I was not _totally_ surprised when we finally arrived at the rather plain operations centre where Edgar had briefed us just over a week ago. Compared to the last time, however, the room was now a whirlwind of activity as operatives scurried purposefully across the floor, carrying pieces of paper from a large, important-looking group of people in the centre to the staff manning the phones at the far end. The main screen had finally been turned on, as well, although currently all it showed was a black-and-white image of a rather bored-looking Edgar reclining in one of the plush chairs in his conference room.

"This is...busy," Terra said quietly, and drew ever so slightly closer to me, "It's all so noisy."

"It'll be okay, Tee," I replied, addressing the anxiety in her voice more than her actual statement, "We'll just find a quiet corner to lurk in and watch the show. Speaking of which, Locke, where do we - oh, bugger, where's he gone?"

In the time it had taken to talk to Terra, Locke had somehow managed to melt away into the crowds. A moment later, he reappeared with a slightly exasperated expression on his face, and gestured emphatically that we should follow him towards the central mass of people.

"What's going on?" I said loudly, so as to be heard over the general background noise, "Kefka not here yet?"

"Course not!" Locke called back, "He'll be another few minutes; they're just running the last few checks on the cameras and mics - see?"

The large screen was flickering wildly, settling for just an instant on images of the same room from slightly different angles, and a moment later a low, irritating hum buzzed through the chamber. There was a crackle of static, and then a muffled rumble as the king on screen coughed discreetly.

"That's impressive," Terra, her social anxiety forgotten, was staring in interest at the large image, "They must have that room wired six ways from Sunday."

"It's not the only thing they've got in there," Locke said darkly, "Anyway, you guys'll get the best view from over _there_ by Stor. You see him?"

"Yeah," I nodded. The big man was not exactly hard to spot, "You not joining us?"

"I'll be back in a sec, pal. Don't you worry."

"We'll try not to," I shook my head and gestured to Terra, "C'mon, Tee; let's go and get ourselves a good seat."

The large group in the centre were, as it turned out, clustered around a large table upon which was laid several large plan views of the castle. Although I could only catch fleeting glances of the writing in between the shifting mass of people, I decided that they could only be schematics of the rooms immediately surrounding the conference room. Scattered across the plans were several small green blocks, placed according to some system that, to the untrained eye, may as well have been totally random.

"Firmament," Stor's deep, rumbling voice managed to make itself heard, even above the hubbub, "This must be your sister."

"Terra," Terra said simply, "Pleased to meet you...sir?"

"How polite," Stor smiled thinly, "You'll have to excuse me. Kefka is very nearly here and we still have some last-minute work to do."

"Pushing those little green cubes around the maps?" I nodded at the plans, "Are those meant to represent your men?"

"Twenty of my best men, all ready to go if the situation demands it," Stor said, confidently, "Just as a precaution, you understand."

"That's quite a lot of firepower," I said, "Did...were all those men ready to 'go' when _I_ was talking to Ed- His Majesty?"

"Not all of them," Stor said calmly, "Kefka's unpredictable and extremely aggressive, not to mention very dangerous. We need to be confident that we can bring him down if-"

The large man was cut short by a sudden, shrill whistling noise, and quite suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on the large screen. The king was alert and on his feet, and as we all watched the large, ornate door swung slowly and silently towards him. There was a harsh crackle from the speakers, and then Edgar's voice rang out across the operations room.

"Ah, General Kefka," he began smoothly, "How pleasant of you to visit."

My heart gave an almighty wrench as Kefka came into view. It didn't look like he had changed at all since the last time I had seen him, right down to the totally tasteless, flouncy clothing and hideous, dead-white makeup. Even his expression, that hateful mixture of smug superiority and manic insanity, seemed to be exactly the same. His bodyguard, too, was as mysterious as ever, although she seemed to have traded her shiny, insectile plates for a costume woven from dark black and grey fabrics. As soon as she entered the room she began circling it in a clockwise direction, inspecting the walls and hangings with a look of professional curiosity and intense interest.

"Quite so, your Majesty," Kefka said suddenly, dragging me out of my reverie, "Allow me to be blunt; you don't want to see me, and I don't want to have to waste my time chasing down leads out here in the middle of nowhere."

"Let us resolve this as quickly as possible, then," Edgar said smoothly, "Would you care for some refreshments?"

"I suppose it may help," Kefka snorted, "Although the sooner I get out of this desert and back to civilisation, the more refreshed I'll feel."

"Believe me, General, the feeling is quite mutual," Edgar said, turning away for a moment towards his drinks cabinet, "I see your ...aide is interested in the tapestries."

"Oh, yes," Kefka glanced once at MK6. She met his gaze evenly for just a moment, and then, almost imperceptibly, shook her head, "She has a great interest in art, and your collection is _well_ known to be one of the finest in the world. This is quite an opportunity for her."

"What can I say? It's good to be the king. Now, Kefka-" Edgar leaned forward, suddenly all business, "How might I facilitate your egress from my humble abode?"

"I want answers, Edgar," Kefka said, his eyes glittering dangerously, "I'm sure that you know about the terrorist attack on IAF Wareydon a fortnight ago, yes?"

"The bomb in the barracks? Of course," Edgar nodded, "Allow me to express my condolences on the loss of your soldiers."

"They were grunts," the general waved a hand dismissively, "Our investigations did turn up some...puzzling results, though."

"Oh? Do go on."

"Read this," Kefka said, and produced a sheet of paper. Edgar's eyebrows knitted.

"I recognise this," he said, "It's a plastic explosive developed by my father-"

"I am well aware of the history of this explosive, Edgar," Kefka said curtly, "What I would like to know is why a Figaran-made explosive was found in the ruins of an Imperial barracks..."

"General," Edgar almost sounded admonishing, "This compound is over twenty years old and is used in demolition across the world including, let me remind you, by Vectoran companies. If you think that this is evidence that-"

"I am simply appraising you of the situation, your Majesty," Kefka smiled a sickly smile, "We like to keep our allies up to date as much as possible."

"So I see," Edgar screwed the paper up into a ball and threw it over his shoulder, "The Kingdom of Figaro appreciates this information and, as I said to your Emperor, if there's any assistance we can render in catching those who committed this act you have but to ask."

"You are too kind, Edgar," Kefka's lips quirked nastily, "Perhaps, then, you'd like to share with us the location of Firmament Manduin Branford?"

All around me there was a sudden, harsh intake of breath, and I felt a sudden stab in the pit of my stomach. To his eternal credit Edgar didn't even bat an eyelid, and when he spoke his voice was as smooth and calm as it had ever been.

"I was led to believe he was a victim of this atrocity," he pointed out, "Is this no longer the case?"

"Our investigations have determined that Firmament Branford was not actually present in the complex at the time of the explosion," Kefka's self-satisfied smirk was gone, and had been replaced with an air of intense frustration, "None of the bodies recovered were his. We have received reports of a man matching his description at a Tzenian airfield, but from there on the trail goes cold."

"An interesting development," Edgar noted, "And tell me; why exactly do you feel that I have somehow divined the location of your errant Mage Knight, especially when your vaunted Imperial Intelligence service has not?"

"I apologise again, your Majesty," Kefka smiled that sickly smile again, "I spoke out of turn."

"Tread carefully, Kefka," Edgar said warningly, "I can assure you that I have no idea of the location of Firmament Branford."

"Of course," the general said, "If you come across any information regarding his location we need to know. The events surrounding his disappearance are very suspicious, and we have reason to believe that he may have tried to fake his own death to escape military service."

"Really? Our sources say Firmament was a committed Sentinel. Besides, he'd never go anywhere without his sister."

"Perhaps you haven't heard, then," Kefka said, irritably, "His sister has also disappeared. First one, then the other - completely vanished within a week of a terrorist attack centred on their home. Suspicious, no?"

"I suppose it could be, yes," Edgar leaned back and steeped his fingers, "What are your thoughts?"

"I find it hard to believe that two such..._recognisable_ individuals could vanish so completely," Kefka smiled nastily, "It seems far more likely that someone is assisting them in their concealment."

"Kefka, I've warned you-"

"Of course I am not referring to you, Majesty," Kefka replied quickly, "I was thinking more along the lines of one of those insurgency groups that operate out in the wilds. If our intelligence is correct, then the largest group almost certainly has the resources and contacts necessary to engineer the disappearance of our Mage Knights, should they manage to get in contact with them?"

"You suspect the Returners plotted the explosion at IAF Wareydon as a means of covering Firmament's disappearance?" Edgar considered it for a moment, "An interesting theory. I suppose they could certainly collect Terra at a later date, once she was off on her...special mission."

"Your Majesty is most wise," Kefka said, "That was our thought too - indeed, my emperor would consider it a personal favour if you were to devote some of your considerable assets to determining the veracity of this statement. Surely you too are concerned at the prospect of such groups operating so freely within your lands."

"They have their uses, as I'm sure you know," Edgar replied, and for a moment the two men shared a significant glance, "Nevertheless, I shall look into it."

"You have my thanks, your Majesty. I shall return to Vector with news of your cooperation," Kefka said, and stood up.

"We should do this more often, Kefka," Edgar said, extending his hand for the general to shake, "I do _so_ enjoy our little meetings."

"As do I, your Majesty. As do I."

"...and I hope your aide has enjoyed a chance to view some of my collection," Edgar added, smiling a little more easily this time, "If your travels should lead you back this way, I would be happy to show her the Kingdom's most prized works. Some of it dates back almost five hundred years."

At her mention, MK6 turned quickly and crossed back across the room to rejoin the two men. As she reached Kefka, she touched him gently on the wrist and then gave the slightest of nods.

"Are you sure?" he said, his expression and his tone of voice suddenly deadly serious. MK6 nodded once again.

"Excuse me?" Edgar said politely, "Have I missed something?"

"My aide was just expressing that she would be only too happy to view your artwork...at a later date," Kefka said, slowly, "For now, however, we have to leave. Matters of grave importance, you understand."

"Of course," Edgar said graciously, "Allow me to show you out."

There was a hushed silence in the operations room as the trio left through the gilded doors, and then a palpable ripple of relief passed through the crowds watching the main screen. For some reason it seemed to divide and flow quite neatly around the group in the centre, and quite suddenly I got the feeling that I had missed something significant.

"So that was Kefka?" Terra said, apparently oblivious to the suddenly tense atmosphere, "He...didn't seem as crazy as you made him out to be. Aside from the clothes, I mean."

"Even Kefka needs to get answers sometimes," I said absently, "You can bet that when he works out where we are the crazy'll be back in full force."

"You think he'll figure that out? Edgar didn't tell him anything."

"He didn't come here to talk to Edgar," Stor said darkly, "That was a front. The _real _reason they came was so that...aide of his could have a look around."

"Really?" I frowned, "What do you think she was looking for?"

"That should be obvious, Firmament," the big man shook his head, "Evidence of you."

"What evidence? I didn't exactly chisel 'Firma woz 'ere' into the woodwork, Stor," I pointed out sharply, "If I had, I'm sure one of your heavies would've done me."

"Maybe she was searching for something...unnatural."

"What, like magic?" I shook my head, "That's not possible. She'd have to be a natural magic user to do that. Heck, I don't even know if she can _use_ magic. Hey, Tee-" I quickly glanced over at my sister, "You didn't get anything from her, did you?"

Terra shook her head, "Sorry, but Kefka's blocking everything out. At the moment I can barely sense _you_."

"So that's... inconclusive," I shrugged, "Still doesn't seem likely."

"Well, whatever she was looking for, it seems like she found it," Stor said shortly, "I take it you didn't miss that little signal she sent Kefka."

"The nod?"

"Exactly. There's just one thing that bothers me, though," he said, and looked up at the screen, "About half the paintings in that room are fakes. If that girl really _was_ interested in art then she should've been able to spot that, but she spent the same amount of time looking at the fakes as the real paintings."

"Maybe Kefka was lying?"

"Tha' seems a little unlikely to me, pal," quite suddenly, Locke was standing next to me, "It seems more likely that she were tryin' to hide what she was doin'."

"Bloody hell, Locke - where have you been?"

"Here 'n there," he said, rather evasively, "Had a few things to take care of, y'know."

"No, I don't," I said pointedly, "What were you talking about, anyway? Was she bugging the room, or something?"

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he smiled wryly, "But on the other hand, if yer know what those fake paintings're hiding, then you might know why she was so interested."

"Locke," Stor said warningly, "I'd stop there, if I were you."

"It's the cameras, isn't it!" Terra exclaimed, "All the surveillance equipment is hidden in those paintings, right?"

"I'm sayin' nothing," Locke shrugged, "State secrets, y'know..."

"Fine," Stor said irritably, "You're right. Most of the cameras and microphones are concealed in the frames of those paintings. They're well hidden, though."

"I wonder _how_ well hidden..." Locke said, and raised his voice, "Hey, can we get a view from...ooh, the far end of the room? About head height?"

The man who was obviously in charge of the cameras looked over at Locke with surprise, and then at Stor. The commander nodded quickly, and the image flickered for just a moment, before snapping back into focus with-

"What? What's that?" Stor said suddenly, "Refocus that camera!"

"Looks like she found your cameras, pal," Locke said smugly, "An' it looks like she was nice enough to leave us a message, too."

The camera image was a little blurry, but it was just about possible to make out the blurry outline of a couple of words. A moment later, however, the image shifted and the glowing, snapping words came into sharp focus.

"'nur, ykrapS, nuR'?" Terra tilted her head and repeated it once again, "What language is that?"

"Well, I guess we now know two things about MK6," considering the circumstances, I was proud at how level my voice was, "Firstly, she can obviously use magic, and secondly, she knows _exactly_ where I am."

"'Run, Sparky, run'?" Locke said, slowly, "Do you think that's a warning or a taunt?"

"It's serious, regardless," I replied, "What in the world are we going to do?"

Stor wasted almost no time in acting. Five minutes later, the operations room was cleared of all 'non-essential personnel', which meant damn near everyone, and Locke had been sent on a short mission to find the king and, strangely, the Father Superior. I had no idea why Stor had asked for him to be summoned specifically, and all my attempts to bait him on the matter were quickly and efficiently shut down. Still, the short interlude gave me the chance to catch up with Terra, who had taken the opportunity provided by the mass evacuation to grab a seat and catch up with her reading.

"So, that was interesting, wasn't it," I said, flopping down in a seat next to her. She glanced up at me, and then returned to her book.

"You thought that was interesting?" she said, curiously, "It felt like a bit of a damp squib to me."

"I'm guessing Kefka didn't spark any memories or feelings, then?"

"Only disappointment," Terra smiled wryly, "Someone who projects a presence like that just shouldn't be that _normal_. I was expecting an animal, but if that man I saw in there washed off the makeup and changed his clothes, I don't think I'd be able to pick him out of a crowd."

"Not even Kefka can be pants-on-head insane all the time, Tee," I pointed out, "We've already made the mistake of underestimating him once. Let's not do that again."

"Don't get me wrong, Firma; I believe you," Terra said quickly, "It's just...well, I don't know _what_ I was expecting to see in that meeting. I just know I didn't see it."

"I get the feeling I should probably be glad of that."

"I think the person who should be glad is Edgar," Terra suddenly looked up and over my shoulder, "Speaking of whom..."

Edgar had entered the room, followed quickly by Locke and a rather tired looking Father Superior. The king's expression was dark, and from the way he stalked angrily up to the central table it was obvious he knew what was going on.

"Alright, Stor, what's going on?" he barked, "And why isn't Ester here? He should be running this show."

"He hasn't been seen for a couple of days, your Majesty," Stor said evenly, "Responsibility falls to me in his stea-"

"Fine, yes," Edgar waved that aside, "In that case, it's going to be your responsibility to explain to me how Kefka's aide managed to slip around your surveillance, damage my security cameras-" his face darkened a little further, "-and locate our two guests without anyone _knowing_?"

"We suspect magic, your Majesty."

"Magic? That's an easy excuse," Edgar retorted, "Prove it."

"Look at the message, sire," Stor indicated the glowing letters on the screen, "The words are too small to either be etched on or easily written. The fact that they are also glowing-"

"Yes, yes..." Edgar examined the message for a moment, and then spun to face me, "So, 'Sparky', you seem to have acquired yourself yet another admirer."

"I-"

"However, might I suggest that next time you select someone who is not, possibly, working for the enemy and who _cannot_ locate you at a moment's notice!"

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Terra closed her book with a snap that reverberated around the room, "How is this _his_ fault?"

"Be that as it may, my lady, the fact remains that his, and by extension your presence places my castle _and_ my citizens in great jeopardy, and as the ruling monarch I cannot possibly allow such a state of affairs to be upheld!"

"Are..." Terra's face fell, and for a moment I thought she was going to burst into tears, "Are you asking us to leave?"

"I apologise, Terra," Edgar's gaze and voice softened dramatically, "Under ordinary circumstances, I would like nothing better than to have the pleasure of your company for as long as possible. Unfortunately, Kefka's knowledge of your presence places both this castle _and_ you in a great deal of danger, and for now the best option would be for us to find a new, safe location for the two of you to disappear to while I try to resolve this situation."

"So...you aren't, um, just throwing us out?"

"Of course not, my lady!" Edgar sounded almost affronted, "I would never be so discourteous to such a luminous beau-"

"So you have a plan, then?" I said quickly, hoping to stem the flow of prose before it got going.

"Yeah, but you ain't gonna like it much," Locke said, with a nasty little grin. "In short, our plan is to _actually_ have you disappeared by the Returners."

"You're right; I _really_ don't like that much."

"There are a number of Returner bases scattered throughout the Kingdom of Figaro," Edgar said smoothly, "The main base is far enough from civilisation that we doubt Kefka will ever find you."

"That's great, but I have a couple of problems with this," I nodded in the general direction of my sister, "Terra has amnesia. With respect, Father Superior, she's under the care of the Sentinels - under your personal care, if memory serves."

"Indeed she is," Heston smiled that toothy smile of his, "One of the many benefits of being Father Superior, however, is that I can delegate duties to subordinates with really very little effort. To you, for instance."

"But...sir! I'm not on the active duty roster!" I exclaimed, "You took me off it yourself!" My counsellor-"

"I stopped by your counsellor's office this morning, Trainee," the Father Superior produced a small scrip of paper, "According to this note, you're fit to return to duty."

"Is that so, sir?" I said, choosing my words very carefully, "That's very... accommodating of her."

"Indeed it is," Heston's tone of voice clearly suggested that pursuing this line of enquiry further would be a terminally bad career move, "It's rare to find a counsellor as gifted as her. I may have to recommend her for a promotion."

"Mind you, sir, there's still a problem. I'm only a Trainee," I said, and spread my hands helplessly, "I can't work without supervision."

"Ordinarily, you would be quite right, Firmament," Heston smiled once again, "However, there is a little-used rank that lies between Trainees and full Sentinels. Considering the situation, I feel it prudent that you be promoted to Acting Sentinel. You won't have any authority over other Trainees, but you _will_ be authorised to operate on your own, without supervision."

"Really?" for a moment, I wasn't quite sure what to say, "I'm being promoted? That's never happened before! Do I get a pay rise? Heck, do I get _paid_? Do I get a new top?"

"Your stipend has already been deposited in an anonymous account, Acting Sentinel," Edgar sounded rather amused, "You will be able to access it at a later date."

"Congratulations, Firma!" Terra said, in a tone so enthusiastic that I began to wonder if she was in on this.

"Your new uniform will be issued to you shortly, Sentinel Branford," the Father Superior said, and I felt a small surge of pride at being addressed as 'Sentinel', "There is one final matter, however. We need you two to remain anonymous as long as possible, and...while I do not like this, Locke has managed to convince me that it is necessary."

"Makes perfect sense to me, y'know," Locke shrugged, "There's loads of Sentinels, they can travel armed, and that dull uniform isn't exactly going to stand out much. It's fantastic for staying anonymous, which is why there's such a harsh penalty for people impersonating 'em."

"Hold on," I said suspiciously, "What're you suggesting?"

"Simple," Locke smiled brightly, "We sign Terra up as a Silver Sentinel."

"_What_?"

"There are certain legal requirements that must be met for me to be satisfied," Heston said severely, "If you are to use this disguise, then Terra must freely decide to join the ranks of the Sentinels. In doing so, she will be entitled to wear the uniform and receive the full assistance of our forces, should they be required."

"And...what about the, uh, laws?"

"I would, of course, expect her to comport herself in a manner befitting a Trainee Sentinel," he said, "Of course, if...events should transpire that require the use of force, I would expect the ranking Sentinel present to decide what action is appropriate at that time."

"Well, Tee?" I said, turning to face her, "It's down to you, really."

"I...I don't know," she said, and bit her lip, "Do you really think this is the best choice?"

"Well, Locke does, and he's a lot more experienced in this sort of stuff than I am."

"What would I have to do...as a, um, Trainee Sentinel?"

Heston cleared his throat, "The duties of a Trainee Sentinel are distinguished from that of a full Sentinel only by requiring that a full Sentinel be present, if at all possible. Your charge, should you choose to accept it, will be to act as a first line of response for people who need urgent medical aid aid, regardless of creed, nationality, or allegiance. We are an impartial, international medical organisation, and although I have no doubt that you will find it difficult, you are expected to comply with our laws whilst on tour. Do you understand?"

"I suppose so," Terra paused for a moment, and then said, with significantly more certainty, "Fine. I'll do it! Where do I sign?"


	23. Chapter 4: Run, Sparky, Run!

**Chapter 4 - Run, Sparky, Run!**

It was with somewhat mixed feelings that Locke, Terra, and I wandered slowly back towards our secured accommodation. Sure, Kefka hadn't torn the castle apart looking for us, but it didn't take a genius to realise that something along those lines was massing on the horizon. He knew we were here, and this being Kefka I was pretty sure that his next step would probably involve something that would stretch the Empire's special effects budget to its very limit.

The person who had made this all possible was, of course, MK6. The strange thing about this is that it seemed to be her who had made _everything_ possible, and it was beginning to get more than a little bit irritating that while she knew so much about me, I _still_ had no idea what her bloody intentions were. What, exactly, did she have to gain by telling Kefka where we were only to leave me a message telling me to get the hell out of dodge? Was she playing us off against each other for her own ends? That seemed possible to me, but without knowing more about her it was impossible for me to draw any solid conclusions. Who _was_ she, anyway?

"Yer thinkin' about MK6, aren'cha," Locke said, and nudged me, "C'mon, admit it."

"Yeah, I was," I said, and then something about his voice struck me as suspicious, "What of it?"

"Oh, nothin'," he replied breezily, "'Cept, of course, the way you were lookin' at her during that little meeting."

"No I wasn't!" I retorted hotly, "I was watching Kefka the whole time!"

"Really?" Locke smirked, "A lithe bodyguard in a rather flatterin' outfit stalks across the camera an' you was fixated on that madman? Yer got strange tastes, pal."

"I am _so_ sorry that I focused on the man who wants me dead over the woman in tight clothing," I said acidly, "Your accent's backsliding, by the way."

"I have my ups and downs," he shrugged, "'Sides, maybe you _should_ be more focused on her - she seems pretty focused on _you_, eh 'Sparky'?"

"Do you want to know what happened to the _last_ person who called me 'Sparky', Locke?"

"No, but I _bet_ you're about to tell me that yer did somethin' really horrible to em, aren't you," Locke chuckled, "Because yer such a big, tough guy, aye?"

"Oh, shut up," I said, rather lamely, "In any case, I have absolutely _no_ idea what she's up to. I mean, why would she save my life back in Wareydon just to grass me up to Kefka _now_? I just can't see why she'd do it."

"Maybe she didn't want to," Locke said, "Maybe it was just something she had to do to keep herself sweet with her boss. I can't imagine it'd turn out well if he found out she'd been hiding you from him, and you can _bet_ her replacement would be a wee bit more aggressive about puttin' you away."

"Maybe," I conceded, "Still doesn't help us much _now,_ anyway. What're we going to do?"

"Be long gone before Kefka gets back, I think," Locke said simply, "He can't do owt to us if we ain't here, eh?"

"Well...what about Edgar? And the castle?"

"Ah, I think Edgar can take care of himself better than yer think, pal," Locke said, "'Sides, this castle is a technological masterpiece. Kefka'd have to be crazy to attack it."

"Funny you should say that," I muttered, "Anyway - we're leaving tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," Locke nodded, "Get some sleep tonight, you two; it's going to be a long, hard slog to your new home."

"Our new, _new_ home, you mean," I said, and ran my fingers through my hair, "This is aggravating."

"Sorry, pal," the thief said, sympathetically, "If it helps, this should be the last bit of running you'll have to do for a while."

"Yeah," I smiled weakly, "We'll see."

Terra and I parted ways with Locke shortly thereafter and quickly made our way back to our secured accommodation. The halls seemed like they were suddenly deserted, and the few people who we met on the way favoured us with dark looks as they passed. Everyone knew something was up, and I had a sneaking suspicion that a lot of them were gathering what they could and skeddadling before everything went totally to pot.

Compared to the hallways our temporary housing seemed like a small bubble of sanity, and as soon as we got inside I clicked the door shut and flopped down on the nearest seat, thankful for even a few minutes of relative quiet.

"I'm going to put the kettle on," Terra said, eventually, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Mmm."

"Milk?"

"Mmm."

"Sugar?"

"Mmm."

"Would you like me to be quiet?"

"Nah, Tee - you're alright," I shook my head, "I just need some time to relax before Kefka comes back and reduces the castle to a smoking crater."

"Locke said not to worry about that," Terra pointed out, over the sound of gathering steam.

"You think Locke's ever _met_ Kefka?"

"Well...probably not, no," she replied, "But even so, I thought we weren't going to be here when-"

"It's not us I'm worried about, Tee," I said sharply, "What do you think Kefka's going to do when he turns up again and finds out that we _aren't_ here? That man is totally single-minded and very, very powerful. Edgar's a fool if he thinks he can just fend him off with a show of force."

"Well...why didn't you tell him that, then?"

"What would I say? 'I'm sorry, Edgar, but all your fancy top-secret technology is about one magical crackpot's temper tantrum from being reduced to scrap metal?' Do you really think he'd believe me?"

"Well, maybe he'd believe me."

"Yeah, right," I snorted, "You _know_ he'll just smile patronisingly and say 'My lady, I understand your concerns, but we have prepared for this eventuality' or some such before using the same damn chat-up line that he's used on a dozen girls before."

"You don't like him much, do you?" Terra smiled as she poured out the tea, "After all he's done for us, too."

"Don't get me wrong, Tee, I'm really, really grateful for all he's done," I admitted, "It's just his subjects that I'm worried for. The fool's so damn proud that he's going to sit there while Kefka storms in and reduces the castle and everyone in it to a fine paste. He _should_ be ordering a general evacuation!"

"Hold on, Firma," my sister gave me a sharp look, "I see where you're going with this, and whatever Kefka does isn't your fault. You can't hold yourself responsible for everyone here."

"I don't!" I took a deep breath and tried to work out how to explain my annoyances, "I'm frustrated, Tee. These past two weeks I've spent basically one step ahead of Kefka and his lackeys while they trash the last place and people kind enough to help me - and you know what? There's exactly _zip_ I can do about it! He's too damn powerful!"

"Are you proposing that we turn ourselves in? Do you think that'll stop him?"

"Of course not!"

"Do you think anyone _else_ can stop him?"

"Not bloody likely."

"Then we'll have to keep running until we _can_ stop him, then," Terra said, and handed me a mug of tea, "Drink up. Maybe you'll feel better for it."

"I...suppose you're right," I said, and took a deep gulp of my tea, "We _are_ planning on stopping him, then."

"Of course," Terra's voice was suddenly intense, "We have a score to settle."

"Mmm," I took another gulp of the tea, "Nothing quite like a good cuppa. Thanks, Tee."

"You looked like you needed it," Terra smiled gently, "Everything's going to be fine, Firma. You'll see."

"I hope you're right," I clambered wearily to my feet, "Man, I'm knackered. I think I'm going to see if I can catch up on my sleep while I still can."

"I think I'll do the same," Terra agreed, "Can't imagine we'll get much chance to do so when we're on the road."

"Yeah."

My room was pretty much as I had left it, which was to say a horrible mess. I picked my way gingerly to my bed through the piles of detritus that had somehow accumulated over the past week, and decided that tomorrow, for certain, I was absolutely going to clean them away. On the other hand, by _not_ doing so I was directly contributing to the continued employment of the castle's cleaning staff, which could only be a good thing for the economy...

In the darkness my mind raced, alighting momentarily on random subject after random subject. Was Terra _really_ as cheerful and happy-go-lucky as she seemed, or was she just putting on a brave face? Had I endangered everyone living in the castle by accepting Edgar's hospitality? Could we have gone elsewhere? Was it right to drag Locke along, particularly if it meant exposing him to Kefka? Was that 'Run, Sparky, Run!' _really_ a warning? _What_, in the world, should I do next?

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I was aware of was an almighty 'bang!' that caused me to half-leap, half-fall out of my bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets.

"Whassat?" I called blearily, still half-asleep, "Whass goin' on?"

"Wake up, Firma!" Terra's voice caused relief and annoyance in almost equal measure, "Locke's here, and he brought breakfast!"

"That's nice of him," I said, as I tried to disentangle one of my arms from around my head, "I'll be right out!"

"You'd better be, or I'm eating yours!"

My reply was, fortunately, masked by the tearing of fabric as I ripped my hand free of my face. That accomplished, I staggered slowly to my feet and did my best to remove the quite impossibly tangled blankets from the rest of my body before staggering out into the painfully bright light of the common room. Both Terra and Locke looked up at my rather ungraceful entrance, with matching expressions that made me entertain dark, happy thoughts involving slatherings of gravy and hungry, hungry wolves.

"Mornin', Firma," Locke said, his annoyingly chipper voice grating on my strained nerves, "Good to see yer as spry as ever."

"Me? Oh yeah, I'm all sunshine and rainbows this morning," I growled, and stalked over to the table, "Where's the breakfast?"

"What's the magic word?" Terra said playfully, although perhaps unwisely.

"Oh my word..." I said, and ran my fingers tiredly through my hair, "Okay guys, I like being annoyed as much as anyone else, but...can we wait until _after_ I've eaten? _Please_?"

"Didn't sleep well?" Terra asked gently, and passed me a strange-looking pastry and some orange juice.

"I've got a lot on my mind," I admitted, and bit into what was apparently my breakfast. Surprisingly, it was pretty good, "I mean, I...I...uh, Tee?"

"Yes?"

"What, exactly, are you wearing?"

"It's a dress!" Terra said defensively, "Edgar had one of his dressmakers make it for me!"

"Fair enough," I said, and ignored the cautionary glance from Locke, "Well, I suppose that'd explain the length."

"And _what_ is that supposed to mean, exactly?" Terra said icily, "I happen to think it's very nice, thank you very much!"

"I'm not disagreeing with you there; red suits you," I shrugged, "D'ya really think that a bright red dress and high heels're _really_ the sort of clothing that's good for cross country hiking? Do you even know how to _walk_ in high heels?"

"Do you?" Locke put in.

"No, of course not!" I said, caught momentarily off guard, "Why would _I _know that?"

"I'm not sure," Locke said, but smirked regardless, "I guess it wouldn't surprise me if you did, though."

"Oh ho, ho, _ho_," I said, every syllable dripping with sarcasm, "Isn't it a little early in the day for you to be employing your world-class comedic stylings, Locke?"

"I-" Terra began.

"Don't think you've gotten off the hook here, chief!" I snapped, "Have they delivered our new Sentinel uniforms yet?"

"Just now, but-"

"Go and change, Tee," I said sharply, "There's a time and a place for Edgar's sartorial offerings, but running away from Kefka and his goons in the Figaran desert isn't it! We didn't get this far just to get shot up because you decided bright red was good camouflage, okay?"

"Fine!" Terra yelled, and leapt to her feet, "You know what, Firma? Sometimes you can be a bloody _jerk!_"

With that, and with just a little bit of wobble, she stormed off into her room, slamming the door fiercely behind her.

"I would've used a stronger word, myself," Locke observed, "What the hell's gotten into you, Firma?"

"Oh, be quiet!" I snarled, "You know I'm right, anyway."

"Yer may be right, but yer can be right without being a total tosspot, eh?" he observed, quite seriously, "I know it's been hard recently, but try to have a little empathy for yer sister, eh?"

"I-"

"I know she's been putting on a brave face for all of us, but she's just as scared as you are. Probably moreso, 'cause all she's got to look up to is you an' heaven knows you ain't exactly been a great role model these past few days."

"_Excuse_ me?" I said, and gave him a dangerous, dangerous glare, "What do you mean by _that_, exactly?"

"Oh, only that yer probably spendin' more time drinking yerself silly then you are with your sister," Locke said bluntly, and my face must have registered some surprise, because he added, "What, you didn't think I'd find out about that?"

"That's not true!"

"Oh aye?" he retorted, "How much time have you actually spent with Terra, eh? Whenever I've come by yer always either carryin' out some silly task for the Sentinels or in another counselling session. If I didn't know better, I'd say yer were tryin' to avoid her."

"Where are you going with this, Locke?" I said shortly, "What do you want, a signed confession?"

"I don't want anythin', Firma, 'cept to know that you've got our backs," he said, stonily, "But if I were you, I'd do a bit of soul-searching and see if yer really worthy of wearing that jerkin."

Before I could reply the door behind me banged open and Terra stalked back into the room dressed in the far more subdued whites and greys of a Trainee Sentinel. In her hands, she was holding a rather nondescript grey ball of fabric and a depressingly familiar box.

"These are yours," she said shortly, and thrust them roughly into my hands, "_Sir_."

"Oh," I said, not taking my gaze off Locke, "Thanks, Tee."

"Don't mention it," she replied, in a tone cold enough to freeze helium, "I think the jerkin's your new Acting Sentinel top, and that box has a pair of pistols in it."

"Mmm...I think one of these is yours," I snapped open the box to take a quick look, "You want it?"

"I can melt steel with my mind, Firma," Terra pointed out, "Why would I want a gun?"

"Suit yourself," I shrugged, and snapped it shut again, "I guess that _I'll_ have to be the one who dives around corners looking cool."

"Oh aye?" Locke sounded a bit _too_ interested for my liking, "Guns akimbo 'n all? I'd pay good money to see that again."

"I don't doubt you would - wait, _again_?"

"Yeah, I seen someone do it once before," he said, in nostalgic tones, "Was in Vector workin' with the local cadre of the Returners, and this keen young lad I knew had the same idea. 'Said he'd read it in a book or summat and was goin' to give it a go the next chance he got. Well, some Imperials came a'knockin', and while everyone else took cover he came leapin' out from this pillar screaming blue bloody murder."

"Wow," I said, impressed despite myself, "Did it work?"

"Well, let's just say that it's a good thing he was wearin' that trenchcoat, 'cause otherwise we'd have had nothing to scoop him off the floor with," Locke shook his head wearily, "Didn't hit a single trooper, either, although that was probably the fault of his sunglasses. I kept tellin' him 'if yer bumping into furniture at three in the afternoon yer probably need a slightly lighter tint', but would he listen? Would he bollocks."

"He sounds like he was a little...special."

"Oh, he definitely wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he made up for it by being keen as anythin'," Locke gave me a bright smile and patted me on the shoulder, "Come to think of it, I reckon you two would've gotten along just fine."

"No doubt," I raised a single eyebrow, "In _any_ case, are we ready to go?"

"Not yet!" Terra objected, and poked the ball of fabric nestled by my elbow, "If I have to change, _you_ have to change. Lead by example, right?"

"Okay - fine, I'll be two seconds," I said, and turned towards my room, "Then can we go? Standing around like this is beginning to make me feel uncomfortable."

The strange feeling of unease began to settle deeper into my bones as I stripped off my old top and threw it into my bag, and then I was struck with an awfully familiar sense of dread. Gritting my teeth, I wrenched my new jerkin on over my head and ducked back out into the common room, hoping against hope that it wasn't what I thought it was, but that faint chance flickered and died as soon as I caught sight of Terra's ashen, fearful expression.

"Kefka?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Terra nodded silently in response.

"What?" Locke cut in, "Kefka's back? _Already?_"

"If he isn't, he will be soon," I said, and pinched the bridge of my nose, "For heaven's sake! I've bloody underestimated him _again,_ haven't I?"

"No time for that now, Firma!" Locke said, "You can beat yourself up once we're safe 'n away, right?"

"Right - sorry," I tried my best to focus, "I assume you've arranged some kind of transport?"

"Aye," he nodded, "I've got a trio of chocobos waitin' for us down in the stables all loaded and ready to go. We'll slip out 'round the back and be well on our way to Figaro Castle Town before Kefka even knows we left."

"Chocobos?" I raised an eyebrow, "I've...I've never ridden a chocobo, y'know."

"Really? What _do_ they teach you kids these days?"

"How to drive, mate," I sighed, "Oh well - needs must, I suppose. How hard can it be?"

I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that everyone knows what a chocobo is. After all, the damn things are all around us. You can see them at zoos, in farms, on our dinner plates, and in movies about manly men manifesting destiny across the old Figaran plains. Just this morning, I had a nice bowl of Choco Pops and even received a letter from Terra about how _'Charlie the Chocobo goes Quantity Surveying'_ was proving to be a big hit amongst her younger wards (obviously, that wasn't the _whole_ letter). However, for those of you who are stay-at-home vegan philistines, I have a nice excerpt here from _Tolson and Toole's Book of Common Avians_ that should answer just about everything you want to know about them.

_'The Chocobo (Speedipus Rex), is a large flightless bird found in many regions of the world. Chocobos commonly weigh between 80-150 kilograms and stand between 1.8 and 2.3 meters tall, and are covered in a thick layer of feathers that vary dramatically in colour depending on the region. While timid, chocobos are also both friendly and inquisitive and have been employed by humans throughout history in roles from farm labour to light cavalry."_

Personally, my favourite part of that excerpt is the bit where it describes chocobos as 'friendly and inquisitive', because it's quite simply a bald-faced lie perpetrated by the man to sell breakfast cereal. Everyone I know who has anything to do with chocobos will quite happily tell you that they're sadistic, evil-minded bastards whose inquisitive nature extends itself to seeing how hard they can squeeze your head until your skull collapses. As a result (and in direct contradiction to what mass media would have you believe) it is actually really, _really_ sodding hard to ride a chocobo, and when I say that I would much, _much_ rather go through what happens next than hop up on the back of another walking family bucket I hope you realise exactly how damn evil the birds are.

Thanks to a rather annoying little idiosyncrasy of the castle's design, the ancient and historic chocobo stables were situated in a little building just outside of the main keep. While this in itself wasn't too awful, _another_ little idiosyncrasy of the castle was that Edgar's little stronghold only had a couple of routes in or out, all of which required, at some point, a short trip through the main throne room. According to Locke, this was to create chokepoints and prevent the castle from being overrun by hordes of marauding barbarians back in the days when there _were_ such things. The fact that nobody had seen fit to add a few more entrances in the centuries of barbarian-less prosperity seemed to smack rather heavily to me of laziness, but when pressed on the matter all Locke would do was to smile a little secretively and mumble something about 'structural integrity', which seemed more than a little suspicious.

Terra, for her part, was obviously still annoyed at me for pulling rank earlier, and her already frayed temper had been further stretched by the sudden and very much unwanted arrival of our favourite crazy general. The stormy expression on her face was one that I had had plenty of experience with over the years, and I decided that it would be best for everyone in a fairly significant radius if I just caught up with her once she had cooled off.

"Right, guys," Locke said, coming to a sudden stop, "We're going to go up 'n over the throne room as much as we can. Kefka's probably goin' to be chargin' in there with murder in his eyes, so we'll be wanting to sneak on by while he's having it out with Edgar, aye?"

"He's going to butcher Edgar, Locke," I said, quite seriously, "Are you okay with that?"

"Let Edgar handle 'imself, pal," he said shortly, "Personally, when the King of Figaro tells me to do something, I ju-"

Locke's statement was cut short by the loud, ominous wail of a klaxon that chilled me to the core.

"What's that?" Terra asked, clearly startled.

"That's general quarters, that is," Locke said darkly, "Looks like Kefka's brought more than his sense of fashion, if you get my drift."

"He's invading? Would he do that?"

"Ask yer brother. Regardless, I think that we'd better make ourselves as scarce as possible, aye?"

"Aye - I mean...yes!" I shook my head, "Get us out of here, mate!"

Locke's route through the castle was probably not the fastest way to the exit, but it was definitely one of the less travelled ones. With the klaxons blaring in our ears, we hurried quickly up through a series of dark, dusty spiral staircases and through several rooms containing ancient furniture covered in cloth. On the floors above and below I could hear the fast, synchronised pounding of feet as the Figaran Guard rushed to their posts, and I began to wonder exactly how Kefka had managed to muster and sneak a military force into Figaro in the first place. Finally, and just as my knees were about to give out, we emerged at the top of the throne room just in time to hear Edgar's angered voice ringing off the ceiling.

"_What_ is the meaning of this, General?"

The throne room itself was truly a marvel to behold, and was clearly a place that anyone with half an interest in royal history would have given their front teeth to visit. Unfortunately, I had more pressing matters to deal with - namely, the livid-faced clown general advancing down the purple carpet towards Edgar's throne. The air crackled dangerously, and I could almost hear a dozen unseen people take a deep breath as Kefka raised an accusatory finger towards the angry king.

"Bring me the girl!" he barked, "_Now!_"

Beside me, Terra gasped and shrank back against the wall, the colour draining from her face.

"It'll be okay, Tee," I said consolingly, kneeling down beside her, "He's bluffing."

"That ain't the face of someone who's bluffing, pal," Locke said warningly, "He seems pretty damn sure of himself."

"Well, what about me?" I sniffed, "What the hell am I? Chopped liver?"

"You _want_ this guy's attention?"

"Some acknowledgement would be nice. I bloody well worked _hard_ to be here, y'kno-"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Edgar's voice turned our attention to the national emergency taking place downstairs, "As I'm sure you're aware, _General_, there're more girls in here than there are grains of sand out there, and if you're expecting me to keep track of 'em all, then-"

"Don't play the fool with me, Edgar!" Kefka roared, "I _know_ that you've been harbouring the renegade Mage Knights, and if you don't release them into my custody then-"

"-then what, Kefka?" Edgar said, fixing the general with a steely gaze, "I've yet to see any proof on your part about these accusations. What I _do_ see, however, are a couple of your Magitek tanks parked just outside my castle! Are you _trying_ to start a war, General?"

"A war _would _be fun, wouldn't it?"

"_General-_"

"Have you ever heard the sound of thousands screaming in agony, your Majesty?" Kefka giggled, "It's a symphony of despair! Music to my ears!"

"Oh, hell," I muttered, "I know where this is going. Locke - can I get down to ground level?"

"That spiral staircase over there-" Locke indicated the thin white stairs with a jerk of his head, "-but are you serious? You know you'll be giving Kefka the perfect excuse to declare war."

"He's going to anyway, mate," I nodded down at the mad general, "He knows we're here, and as soon as he psyches himself up he's just going to do Edgar, straight up."

"Firma's right," Terra said grimly, "If we don't stop him, nobody will."

"Exactly," I said, and flicked open the pistol case, "We _need_ Edgar, Locke."

"Well, if you think you two can handle it," Locke said dubiously, as I loaded and cocked the two rather powerful looking handguns. I gave him a rather unconvincing smile in response.

"To be honest? Not really - but maybe we'll get points for trying," I nodded grimly at the staircase, "The stairs, Tee. Now!"

"Do you want to know something, Edgar?" Kefka said, in the same dangerous sing-song voice, "I _hate_ your snivelling little country. I feel sick just standing here in your pathetic little dust-filled metal hell-hole. I _hate_ it, Edgar! I _hate_ the sand and I _hate_ the heat and I _hate hate hate you! You_, you spineless two-faced excuse for a king! My life would be so much better if I didn't have to deal with wretches like _you!_"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Edgar said simply, "I suppose that this is where we part ways, then."

"Oh, _yes¸_ your Majesty," Kefka grated, "Oh-"

Quite suddenly, the throne room erupted with the deafening sound of gunfire, as hidden guns opened fire on Kefka from every conceivable angle. All around me I could hear the crack of rifles and the sounds of bullets whipping through the air and then, above it all, there came the bone-chilling, maniacal laughter of the crazed general. He and his aide stood, completely unharmed, within a circle of squashed, expended bullets, and his hands crackled with raw, lethal power.

"Is that _it, Edgar?_" he howled, positively cackling with glee, "Is that _everything_ you have to throw at me? Mere _bullets_? Maybe I should show you a taste of _real_ power, you..._insect!_"

A strange buzzing picked up between my ears as Kefka drew upon his reserves, and as I reached the bottom of the spiral staircase I saw him throw up a hand and hurl a ball of eye-aching blackness towards the suddenly terrified king. Behind me I heard Terra gasp in horror, and realised that unless I did something _immediately_ then there wouldn't be enough left of the monarch to fill a thimble.

"Oh, bugger _this!_" I yelled, and dove off the bottom step firing both guns in a manner that would've done Locke's late friend proud. For just an instant, I caught a glimpse of Kefka's half-astonished, half-delighted expression before his sphere of darkness rose up and hit me like a truck. There was a faint, ethereal snap inside my head as my shields buckled under the impact, and then the world whirled around me until I slammed into something hard and crumpled, unceremoniously, to the floor.

"Firma?" I heard Edgar's astonished voice go up at the same time as Kefka's incredulous "MK2?"

"...ow," I managed to mutter, hoarsely. After a few false starts, and with some significant help from the wall, I was able to clamber to my feet, and watched with rather concussed interest as the sparkling, crackling remnants of my shields duked it out with tiny patches of utter darkness.

"Here to play the hero, are we?" Kefka sneered, "As always, MK2, you have a talent for turning up where you're not wanted."

"I could very easily say the same thing about you, General," I replied woozily, "Bloody hell, that _hurt_."

"Still, now that you're here, it saves me the trouble of burning this castle to the ground," he said, in a very convivial tone, "On the other hand, I_ was_ quite looking forward to that..."

"Now hold o-"

"Tell you what, MK2," he smiled brightly, and as one Edgar and I leaned backwards, "As my way of saying thanks for delivering yourself to me, I'll leave this pathetic little castle and its vermin alive if you tell me where MK1 is. I do _so_ miss her, you understand."

"I'm...I'm right here, Kefka!" Terra's defiant voice rang out across the throne room, and a moment later she stepped resolutely out of the stairwell with a fireball in either hand, and a dangerous glint in her eye.

"But of course you are!" Kefka positively clapped his hands together in glee, "Isn't this fun? It's like a family reunion! I'll have MK6 brew a pot of tea for us while we catch up and watch this hideous technological nightmare burn down around us! We can play charades! It'll be-"

"No, thank you," Terra said, her voice shot through with iron, "I'm not interested."

"Well, that's unfortunate," the general's lips curled back ever so slightly, and I got the feeling that we were about to witness another violent outburst, "Wouldn't you love to hear of your exploits while you were working for me, MK1? All the innocents you burned to little, tiny cinders? I have this fantastic act of a mother begging for her chi-"

"Don't rise to it, Tee!" I cut in, suddenly, "None of it was your fault!"

"Mind your manners, MK2!" Kefka snarled, "I was talking to MK1!"

"Not anymore," I said, and moved to stand alongside Terra, "Let's just cut to the chase, shall we? We're not going anywhere, and you're not going to make us."

"Firma's right," Terra said, in that same iron-cold voice, "We're not going to let you take us away."

"Oh?" Kefka almost seemed surprised by our declaration, "Is that so?"

"It is," I said, amazed at how steady my own voice was, "And if you make a move, we'll blow your shields to pieces. How many bullets do you think you'll be able to take then, eh?"

"Is that so?" Kefka didn't seem to have heard me; indeed, he seemed to be on the verge of cracking up entirely, "You presume to tell _me_ what to do? _You_? Two little, terrified Sentinels who think they can match my power? How _dare_ you? I'll show you..."

"Edgar, we're going to need a way out very, very quickly," Locke said, finally appearing from the stairs, "That guy's just about ready to blow."

"I know that, Locke," Edgar replied, "Gather about the thrones, quickly!"

"...and I'll make an example out of you, so that everyone can see what happens to people who oppose me!" Kefka screamed, and I found myself staring straight down the barrel of a loaded finger, "_Die!_"

At his command, the lights in the throne room dimmed and began to burn a dark, evil hue, and the sunlight streaming through the windows suddenly seemed wan and sickly. A cold, blue mist slowly formed around the thrones and spread across the floor, snaking around our feet as it crawled towards the maniacally laughing general.

"What's going on?" Locke said worriedly, "Edgar-!"

"Just a minute!" Edgar said briskly, "What _is_ going on, Firma?"

"I'm not sure!" I snapped, and watched with growing fear as the shadows on the walls began to twist and writhe ominously, "Given the context, I'm sure it isn't good."

As it turned out, this was a fairly accurate summation of the situation. Apparently not content with just moving disturbingly, the shadows began to merge together, running across the floor in tiny beads to form into a large pool so dark it actually hurt to look at.

"Edgar?" Locke repeated.

"Hold on, please!" Edgar sounded frustrated and terrified in equal measure, "This just needs a little oil..."

"And d'yer _have_ a little oil?"

"Of course I do! Just give me two damn seconds, Locke!"

"We may not have two seconds," Terra said, almost wonderingly, "Firma...?"

More shadows were pouring into the pool from all directions, causing its thick, oily surface to ripple strangely as it reared up into a truly terrifying, beastly shape, all wings and fangs and other things, too warped and twisted to describe but that somehow spoke to me on a darker, more primal level. It seemed to be something that came from beyond my darkest nightmares, and I was rooted to the spot as it loomed ominously over us, dripping dark, thick patches of nothingness on the cold throne room floor.

"Firma?" Terra said again, "What...what do we do?"

"Shields," I croaked, and desperately tried to get a handle on things, "Shields, Terra! _Now!_"

The strange, warped beast above us chose that exact moment to strike, and as its twisted, yawning maw swooped down towards the thrones our combined shield burst into existence as a field of twisting red and gold. The two met with a brilliant crash of magical energy, and the air was filled with white light and a high-pitched shriek as the two forces vied for supremacy. Already, I could hear the tell-tale splintering sounds of a shield on the verge of failure, and my stomach lurched-

-but then we were falling away, dropping down a deep, dark elevator. From above, I could hear Kefka screaming with rage, and the great, dark beast wavered and vanished as his control over it began to fail.

"What _was_ that thing?" Locke said, his face totally devoid of colour.

"That?" I smiled brightly, belying the fact my whole body was still shaking with fear, "Things like that are why I'm so damn scared of Kefka."

"It looked like...what nightmares have nightmares of," Terra said.

"You might not be all that far from the truth, Tee," I shrugged wearily, "Kefka's dabbled in some nasty stuff over the years. Stuff I wouldn't touch with someone else's barge pole, if you get my drift."

"I think I do now," Locke said carefully, as the elevator reached the bottom with a dull 'clunk', revealing a single exit down a long, brightly lit corridor, "Now, yer Majesty - where are we, exactly?"

"Well-"

"Running away, Edgar?" Kefka rasped, his voice echoing off the sides of the elevator wall, "That you should flee, and leave your subjects in my caring hands...it's...it's..._delightful_! Yes! Delightful!"

"Looks like we got happy Kefka back again," Locke observed, "'m not sure that's much of an improvement, though."

"I believe I shall instruct my troops to have a _barbeque_ to celebrate, your Majesty!" Kefka called down, "I shall invite all your citizens - no, attendance shall be _mandatory!_ Now, I simply _must_ find some kindling..."

"We'd better go," Edgar said stonily, "We've got more important fish to fry."

With that, he set off wordlessly down the long passage, although something about the way he was walking suggested that it was only through the greatest demonstration of regal restraint that he was holding himself together. He was, I decided, a man who desperately wanted to punch something.

"Aye," Locke agreed, and gave both Terra and myself a significant glance, "'Sides, if we go up there we'll probably jus' have to go a second round wi' the Chernabog."

"Indeed," I nodded knowingly, and made a mental note to look up that name at a later date, "Still, this secret passage is pretty nifty; I bet it'll lead to Edgar's private airplane or something like that."

_"Um, guys...?"_ Terra said, timidly.

"I doubt it, pal; Edgar gets pretty airsick."

_"Guys? We, um..."_

"Really? Damn," I felt a little disappointed, but brightened nonetheless, "Still, he's bound to have _something_ cool down here, right? Some kind of underground drilling machine or a hovercraft or..._something_!"

"Guys!" Terra said, more loudly, "I don't want to worry anyone, but...we're being followed."

"What?" I said, and checked quickly over my shoulder, "Oh my word, the black lagoon's followed us home."

It looked like Kefka had left us a playmate, either deliberately or just through some case of sheer twisted luck. A small remnant of the darkness that had formed Locke's demon was dripping down from the throne room above and was forming itself into a small pool that, while nowhere near as impressive as the full show, was advancing on us in a manner that strongly suggested that it was not about to let that get in its way.

"Great," I sighed, "Run?"

"Run," Terra agreed. Locke, for his part, was already rapidly receding down the tunnel. Terra and I wasted no time in following suit, catching up with and rapidly overtaking the surprised Edgar who, after a quick look behind us, was eager to join us in our athletic activities.

"Bet you're glad you're not wearing your high heels now, eh?" I muttered to Terra, who shot me a dark glance in return. Before I could capitalise on my being right, however, there was a sudden wail from a hidden speaker, and quite suddenly a large, equally well hidden door snapped shut just ahead of Locke, who leapt backwards with a yelp of surprise.

"What the-" I said, coming to a screeching halt just in front of the depressingly hefty door, "What is _this?_"

"Oh, ah..." Edgar seemed momentarily at a loss for words, "This isn't meant to happen; this door _should_ shut just after we've gone through. Something must have gone wrong..."

"'Gone wrong'?" Locke shouted, "Oh, tha's just _grand_!"

"If you'll just hold on, I'm sure I can correct it!"

"Why wait?" Terra said, "I could just... blow a hole in it?"

"It's four feet thick, my lady," Edgar said, slightly abashed, "An explosion large enough to destroy that thing will likely kill us all. If you will just allow me a few moments to contact the chancellor, he will let us through."

"That's good enough for me," my sister looked at the advancing pool with a critical eye, "Firma; let's keep this thing at bay long enough for Edgar to get the door open, shall we? Surely we can shield against that much."

"I should think so, yeah," I agreed, quickly moving to take up a position a little closer to the blob, "We're going to need to cover the whole corridor, though. Can't have any of it slipping by."

"I know," Terra nodded, and a moment later a warm red glow filled the corridor from wall to wall as her shields came online. It brightened and acquired a faint golden tinge as I added my strength to hers, forming an impenetrable barrier that I was sure could keep even the more determined evil pool of absolute darkness at bay.

"Well, I'd like to see it get through tha-" I said, but was cut off by Edgar's sudden cry.

"Chancellor! Yes, good..." he said, in a tone of sudden relief, "Yes, I am still alive and well...yes, I know the castle is on fire...it's Kefka...no, he just likes to do that sort of thing - listen to me for a second, Chancellor!"

"Sounds like he's having a few problems of his own," Terra remarked.

"He'll be done shortly, Tee; let's just worry about this blob. Speaking of which..."

The ever-so-slow blob of infinite evil had, finally, reached our shields, and despite the obvious lack of any form of expression I got the distinct feeling it wasn't quite sure what to do about them. After a moment, it extended a long, sludgy pseudopodia and gingerly touched the glowing field, resulting in a shower of sparks as the two forces worked to cancel each other out.

"See? No problem," my sister said, although she was still intensely focused on the poor, confused thing.

"I dunno," I said dubiously, "It may try something else, like-"

_'...firmi...'_

"-like making me hear voices," I sighed, "Oh, goody, it's going to try and drive me insane."

"Actually, I heard that too," Terra frowned, "But why would it say _your_ name? How does it _know_ your name? It's a blob!"

It appeared that the blob heard that last comment, as a moment later there was a telltale ripple in the very centre, much as there had been before, and then it began to pile up on itself, growing taller and taller until it was maybe four feet tall. From there, it began to twist and contort unnaturally, slowly becoming more human-like in appearance as arms and legs began to ripple into existence. For some reason, it also seemed to become more familiar with each passing moment, until there was a final ripple of detail across the face and I found myself staring straight into the dark, oily image of-

"Elli," I breathed, "Oh, come on - that's _low_."

Somehow, and I had no idea how, Kefka's magical remnant had managed to recreate my long-lost friend right down to the last detail, admittedly in dark, ominous blob form. It was, rather unsettlingly, completely without eyes, and its lips were pursed in a faintly malicious smile that had never, at any point, graced Elli's features.

"Who is that, Firma?" Terra pressed me, "What is it meant to be?"

"It's imitating a dead friend of mine - I'll tell you about her later," I waved her next question aside, "As for what it is...not sure. Figment of my memories? Subconscious?"

_'...a good guess...'_

"But why?" I asked, puzzled, "You're just a bit of left-over magic. You don't...you can't think on your own!"

"Maybe it's reacting to something in your mind," Terra suggested, "Can magic do that?"

"No magic I know of," I said, after a moment's pause, "But as I say, Kefka's dabbled in some crazy stuff before..."

_'...you lie, firmi. This _is_ magic you are familiar with...'_

"Really?" I said, and went over in my head the sort of magic that might be capable of creating something like this freak, "Oh, wait. I think I know."

"What is it?" Terra said, looking quickly between myself and Elli, "What magic is this?"

"It was...something stupid I did, six years ago," I said, eventually, "Really stupid. Well, Kefka put me up to it, so it was more carefully engineered stupid than anything else."

_'...some magic leaves a mark...'_

"Yeah, but it wasn't even finished!" I said, glancing helplessly at my sister, "She stopped me before I could do something serious!"

"Are you sure?" Terra nodded at the small girl standing before us, "She would seem to suggest otherwise."

"'Hope Edgar gets that door open soon," I muttered, "What do you want, Elli?"

_'...I wish to finalise our contract...'_

"Not happening," I said, firmly, "Why don't you go ask Kefka? He's probably well up for some of your freaky agreements."

The little girl laughed an ethereal laugh, _'...I am not giving you a choice, firmi...'_

"In that case, I'm invoking the 'I'm standing on the other side of this unbreakable shield' clause. Go _away_, Elli."

_'...but do you not wish to see your friend again? Or utterly destroy your greatest foe? With me at your side-'_ for just a moment, her features seemed to waver, _'-with me at your side you-!"_

"Is she fading?" Terra said, almost curiously, "I'm sure she's...yes!"

"Sorry, Elli," I said, simply, "The real Elli's been dead for six years now. It's sad, but it's the truth. I also know all about your offers to help me crush Kefka or end world famine or whatever, but I've read enough books to know what happens to idiots who make those sort of deals. I'm not interested, and you're not powerful enough to stick around now that madman upstairs has gotten bored and turned off the juice, so keep your dignity and try to fade out without saying-"

_'...you shall _never_ be rid of me, firmi! I'll g-'_ in an instant, the world twisted in around the shadowy figure, and when reality restored itself it was gone, leaving no sign of its passage.

"That," I said, and dismissed my shields with a cursory flick of my fingers, "Well, that was an unpleasant surprise."

"Quite," Terra said, "What, exactly, was going on there?"

"Good question," I replied, "I thought that I'd never see her again, truth be told," there was a sudden, loud clang from behind us, and I was gratified to see the large security doors slowly slide back into their hidden enclosures, "Look, let's just get out of here. I'll...try to explain everything on the way."


	24. Chapter 5: Shock and Ore

**Chapter 5 – Shock and Ore**

_Note: Sorry for the delay. You would not believe the constraints completing a PhD thesis and getting married places on your time. :)_

You know what irritates me about that whole evil, phantasmal Elli thing? It's not that there was a shadowy impersonation of a dead mate of mine offering me power beyond my wildest dreams, it was that it was a flagrant breach of etiquette. This may seem strange to you, but let's just stop and think about this for a minute, shall we?

My objection here is that when normal people get molested by forces beyond our understanding, the forces in question are normally either polite or sporting enough to announce their presence with some kind of spooky foreshadowing. It probably isn't all that much, like an evil, horned shadow hanging around the house, or a chill wind, or a creepy nightmare about your equally creepy neighbour, but at least it's _something_. Turning up in a corridor completely out of left field _and_ without any prior warning? That's like arriving at a dinner party without a bottle of wine, or talking with your mouth full; not only is it rude, but it totally ignores _decades_ of etiquette that's been built up specifically to deal with these situations!

Even as I write this, I realise that complaining about the lack of manners displayed by a soul-eating magical fragment is a little, well, odd. However, over the past few years (and as a direct result of my work with Figaro Intelligence) I've come to the conclusion that a rigid adherence to protocol is one of the few things separating us from a third round of planet-cracking warfare.

It goes like this: once the Good Guys (that's us) finally triumphed over the Bad Guys (i.e. everyone who _wasn't_ 'us') there was, rather predictably, a power vacuum in the circles of power normally associated with kicking puppies and burning down orphanages. Over the next couple of years, this was slowly filled by large, colourful organisations called things like SPECTRE and HYDRA, who were apparently hell-bent on world domination and possessed of a seemingly inexhaustible supply of heavily-set goons. While Figaro Intelligence was, obviously, quite worried at this development, it actually transpired that all these groups _really_ wanted to do was sit around on huge piles of cash in their swanky underwater lairs and try to blow up, shrink, or freeze important national monuments. As I'm sure you can imagine, that came as a bit of a relief.

Now, I'm sure that there are a bunch of you saying 'Oi, Firma - why aren't you out there running down these ne'er do wells? What do we pay you for?'. In my case, the answer is 'not _that_, specifically', but secondly it would seem more than a little hypocritical to try and shop them for shrinking the Carobellum Magnifico when _my_ job, as it happens, largely consists of sitting around on huge piles of taxpayer money in a swanky governmental building and trying to slip reasonable, understated things like the 'Forced Purchase' Orbital Eviction Cannon into the yearly budget. Above my chronic laziness and utter apathy, however, is the fact that there are (and here we finally reach my actual point) _rules_.

This is it: our good friends in their underwater lairs actually do a pretty damn fine job of keeping the criminal underworld's more extreme denizens in check. We understand this, and we also understand that if we nick every mad scientist who wants to turn sheep into gold then we'd probably have to deal with people who want to reduce our towns to rubble. On the flip side, the fine folk down at HYDRA know that if they release too many psychic squid into our shipping lanes we'll foreclose on their estates - from space. This may seem like an utterly ludicrous affair, but these rules -and the resultant balance of power- are the only thing between us and an ocean full of psionic cephalopods, fields full of gilded cattle, and a housing shortage such as the world has never seen. Think about _that_ the next time you come to dinner without a present, you cheapskate.

My plans to explain 'everything' to Terra lasted about as long as it took for us to reach the end of Edgar's little escape tunnel, as did my dreams of escaping in some kind of top-secret Figaran black project. Towards the end of the corridor, the bright lighting and smooth metal floors gave way to flickering lamps and uneven stonework, and finally led to a rather sorry-looking wooden door covered in cracked and peeling red paint.

"This is a bit of a let-down, Edgar," Locke pointed out, "After the elevator 'n the bit back there-"

"Budget cuts," Edgar shrugged, by way of explanation, "Besides, after I normalised relations with the Empire, I didn't really think it was worth spending money on. In _hindsight_, however..."

"It's not your fault," Terra said, reassuringly.

"You're too kind, my lady," Edgar said, as he took a firm grip on the tarnished brass doorknob and twisted. With a shriek of protest from the hinges the door swung slowly outwards, depositing more flakes of paint in its wake. Immediately, my nostrils were assaulted with the ever-unpleasant smell of manure, rotting hay, and something else that I couldn't quite-

"Chocobos!" Terra squealed, "Oh my...they're so _cute_!"

"Oh gods..." I poked my head around the corner and was greeted by the sight of four magnificent, yellow-feathered birds that stood maybe two meters tall from large, splayed feet to the tufts on top of their large, soulful eyes, "_Really_, Edgar? I thought you had an entire castle full of technical wizardry!"

"Budget cuts," Locke snorted.

"Do you mind?" Edgar replied sharply, "These are my family's prized racing chocobos. They're the fastest things on two legs! Besides, Firma, your sister likes them."

Behind Edgar, Terra was engaged in an animated, one-sided conversation with one of the enormous birds.

"Yes, she does," I said, finally, "Your point being?"

"Don't be snide, Firma," Terra said absently, "What's this one called?"

"That's Valanice," Edgar replied, after a moment's inspection, "She belonged to my mother."

"She's beautiful," Terra said, "May I...?"

"It would be my honour," the king replied, rather grandiosely, "A bird as fine as Valanice deserves a beautiful rider such as-

"Edgar!" I snapped, "Not now!"

"Aye, he's right," Locke added his voice to mine, "I know yer've fallen behind your quota, Majesty, but can yer please stop flirtin' wit' Terra and _get us out of here_?"

"Uh...yes - of course," Edgar looked rather abashed, "Locke; you take Alexander. Firma, take Connor."

I looked at Connor, who looked straight back with pure, avian hatred glimmering in his eyes. From somewhere in that tufted feathered neck, a long, low hiss started, and I got the distinct feeling that attempting to imitate Terra's affectionate pats would probably leave me minus a hand.

"I...think I may have a problem here, Edgar," I said, "I don't think Connor likes me very much."

"Connor doesn't like _anyone_ very much, I'm afraid."

"Yer gonna need a crop, pal," Locke said, and pointed towards a rack of long, willowy sticks on the far wall, "Sometimes you've gotta show those chocobos who's boss."

"I'm not going to hit him!" I said sharply, "That's...that's cruelty to animals!"

"Spoken like a true city boy," Locke snorted, "I think yer'll change yer tune once Connor's had his way with you, if you get my drift."

"Not really, but...fine," I sighed, and reluctantly took one of the riding crops down from the wall, "Okay, Connor, I don't want to have to hurt you, but-"

There was a sudden blur of long, yellow neck and sharp sting as the crop was whipped from my grasp. For a long moment, Connor held the crop in his beak while he fixed me with a positively lethal stare, and then, almost casually, bit the stick in two.

"Yer see?" Locke said, almost casually, "That could've been yer hand."

As far as I was concerned, that was _it._ Only today, I had risked life and limb facing down the Imperial Empire's favourite insane, magically-enhanced clown _and_ his manipulative, horrid little example of black magic. After surviving that, there was absolutely _no sodding way_ I was about to be mocked by a breakfast cereal mascot. Slowly, I began advancing on the bristling chocobo, feeling dark, icy-cold anger welling up inside me with every step I took.

"Okay, _Connor_," I said dangerously, "_Fine_. I wanted to do this the _easy_ way. Hell, I really _didn't _want to hurt you, but you know what? I don't _flipping _care anymore. You want to do this the hard way? We'll _do_ this the hard way."

"Firma-" Terra said placatingly, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Edgar motion her to silence.

"_This_ is how it's going to work, chief," I continued, now almost nose to beak with the suddenly-unsure bird, "I am going to ride you, and you are going to be _sodding_ ridden. I'm not going to use a crop or spurs..." in a single, lightning-fast motion, I grabbed the reins and yanked Connor down eye level, "...because we _both_ know that if you cross me, Connor, I'll have you rendered down for glue."

"I don't think you can render a chocobo-" Locke began.

"_I'll find a way,_" I snarled. Connor's eyeball rolled in its socket, apparently desperate to find a view that didn't feature my expression, "You got that, Connor?"

There was a long, pregnant pause, and the air between us thrummed with tension. Finally, the chocobo's hackles drooped and it gave voice to a long, drawn-out 'wark'.

"Good boy," I smiled brightly, and patted him on the beak, "See what happens when we all cooperate?"

Locke let out an explosive breath, "Ye gods, Firma..."

"And I didn't even have to whip him," I said smugly, as I clambered onto Connor's back.

"Aye, but yer may have traumatised the poor thing fer life."

"Glad that's sorted," Edgar cut in shortly, "I think we've wasted quite enough time here already; I, for one, would like to be long gone before Kefka gets bored of attacking my castle."

"Aye," Locke nodded, "Let's get a move on, shall we?"

The instant Connor trotted outside, I was slapped in the face by a wave of intense heat and the stench of thick, acrid smoke. Dark, sooty flames licked up and down the sides of the castle and belched from every available window, filling the air with glowing embers and a fog of bone-white ash. Through the flames, I could just about make out the silhouettes of the castle guard, rushing this way and that as they struggled to bring the flames under control.

"Looks like Kefka's barbeque is in full swing," Locke said darkly, "You're not going to just stand for this, are you, Edgar?"

"No," Edgar's knuckles whitened as they gripped the reins of his chocobo, "No, I'm _not_."

There was an uncomfortable silence after that, punctuated by the sound of groaning metal and a sudden shriek of pain.

"Um..." Terra said uncertainly, "How did Kefka manage to set fire to your castle? More of that shadow magic?"

As if in answer, a white-hot pinprick of light appeared a short distance away in the fog. There was a sudden roar and a jet of smoky orange flame crashed against the side of the castle, adding to the misery of the already embattled soldiers. The flare died down, allowing us a brief glimpse of a large, bipedal war machine, before it turned and stamped off into the falling ash.

"That-that was..." Locke started.

"A Golem!" Terra said excitedly, "Wow! I've never seen one before. It looked so..." her voice trailed off, as if something had suddenly occurred to her, "Sorry, Edgar. I-"

"Its fine, milady," Edgar said curtly, "There's nothing we can do here, anyway."

"We should go," Locke said firmly.

For a second the king looked like he was going to charge after the Golem anyway, but then his shoulders fell and he silently kicked his chocobo into motion. Quickly, the four of us passed under an ash-covered archway and into the bright morning light of the desert, leaving the burning castle in our wake.

After a short while, Terra drew her chocobo alongside mine.

"Um...Firma?" she whispered, her expression anxious, "Do you think I hurt Edgar's feelings back there?"

"Well, uh...how do I put this?" I thought for a second, "You could maybe have been a _little_ less enthusiastic about the tank burning his castle to the ground, but I'm sure he understands."

"Are you sure? Maybe I should go and apologise..."

I gave Edgar a quick glance. Despite the brilliant morning sun, there was a definite hint of stormy weather coming from his direction, "No. Let him come to terms with it for now."

"Are you-"

"Yes."

"But-"

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to say!"

"Yes I do," I snorted, "Believe it or not, this isn't the first time you've managed to wedge your foot in your mouth."

"I-" Terra opened her mouth to deliver a suitable retort, but was cut off by a familiar, bone-chilling laugh. With a start, I looked about wildly and spotted a white, glowing shape on a nearby dune.

"Oh, how _marvellous!_" Kefka's mad, sing-song voice echoed across the sands, "You actually _did_ flee! You know, I was just thinking how _disappointed_ I'd be if you'd decided to stay and defend your castle, but here you are! How absolutely _fantastic_! We simply _must_ have our own little celebration, wouldn't you say?"

"Easy, Majesty," I said, taking a firm grip on Edgar's reins, "That's not actually Kefka. I don't know how he's doing it, but that's not him."

"He's right," Terra added, grimly, "It's an illusion."

"What an excellent observation, MK1! I _am_ impressed!" Kefka continued, in the same mocking tones, "Think of it as a gift from your old friend MK6! She's just such a _talented_ girl, wouldn't you agree? Now, where was I? Oh, yes, our _celebration_! I thought that it would be such a _shame_ if you missed out on _all_ the fun when you were fleeing that burning hovel, so I decided to go the _extra_ mile and throw on a little something just for you! Isn't that _grand_? No need to thank me; your agonised, dying screams will be _quite_ sufficient, I assure you! Ta!"

There was a blinding flash of white light, and then he was gone.

"What was _that_ all about?" Terra said, curiously, "He seemed awfully cheerful, for some reason."

"Yeah..." Locke said, looking about carefully, "Really chipper, wasn't he. I think we'd better be makin' tracks, Edgar. Like, _now_."

"Hold on a second, Locke," Edgar had turned his chocobo back towards the flaming castle, and was watching it intently for a reason that totally eluded me, "I just want to make sure everything's okay."

"Oh, they'll be fine!" Locke said, more insistently, "Edgar-!"

"Wait!" Edgar's temper flared momentarily, "Sorry...Locke. I just want to make sure they'll be okay."

"They're going to be hours putting that fire out, you know," I pointed out, "Even longer if those Golems keep starting new ones."

"Oh, I don't think so," the king said confidently, "Watch and see!"

Obligingly, I stared at the smoky, flaming castle, and wondered exactly what crazy scheme Edgar had planned. Just as I was about to give up, there was a low, powerful-sounding rumble that caused grains of sand to dance on the dunes, and then, impossibly, the castle walls began to retract towards the keep.

"Holy Callista!" I blinked, and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things, "That's not just a castle; it's a transformer!"

"It's amazing!" Terra said wonderingly, "An entire _castle_..."

"Figaran engineering, milady," Edgar said, smiling with obvious relief, "'Finest in the world!"

"And it...does what, exactly?"

There was a loud 'thunk' as the walls made contact with the keep, and then the rumble changed to a high-pitched whirr. A sudden cloud of sand was kicked up and obscured the castle from view, but from what little I could see, it looked like the castle was-

"It _moves_?" Terra gave Edgar a wide-eyed stare, "Your entire bloody _castle_ moves? Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Oh, it must have slipped my mind, I'm sure," the king smirked, apparently enjoying the attention, "It can move anywhere through soft strata. By the time Kefka works out where it's gone, it'll be halfway to Kohlingen!"

"Well, I'm glad they're safe," I said, still staring at the smoking patch of desert where, barely a minute ago, there had been a whole damn _castle_, "Now how about us, eh?"

"Aye," Locke agreed fervently, "Yer castle's escaped and Terra here is clearly _very_ impressed. Now, could we _please_ get out of here before Kefka's little celebration kicks off?"

"Yes - yes, of course," Edgar looked up at the sun for just a moment, and then pointed in a direction that, to me, looked as endless as the rest of the desert, "Katastari is about thirty miles in that direction. There's a train waiting to take us to South Figaro."

"Oh aye?" Locke said, and nudged his chocobo into a light trot, "You phoned ahead?"

"What can I say? It's good to be the king."

The attack came a few moments later. From somewhere off behind us there was a rumble, almost like distant thunder, and then an ominous whistling noise pierced the desert air.

"Look ou-!" Terra began, and then the desert exploded into a cloud of smoke and flame. Beneath me, Connor let out a long, panicked scream, and I had just enough presence of mind to haul back on his reins before he could ditch me and bolt.

"What is it?" Locke shouted, also struggling to keep his chocobo under control.

"Golem!" Edgar replied, "Run!"

Connor didn't need telling twice, and at the slightest of urgings he surged forwards as a second shell blew out a large chunk of the dune behind us.

"Can anyone see it?" I cried, struggling to be heard of the whine of a third salvo, "Where is it?"

"Don't know!" Terra replied, and ducked instinctively as the desert erupted a third time, "Shields?"

"No!" I shook my head emphatically, "You don't want to catch something that large going that fast! 'Sides, it'll just go off in your face!"

"I thought not!" she said, and kicked Valanice into a higher gear, "Maybe we can just outrun it!"

We raced pell-mell through the desert sands, twisting and turning wildly in an attempt to avoid the falling shells. Connor hurtled onwards, panting with exertion and blind panic, and after a failed attempt to regain control of the bird I settled for hanging on as best I could, hoping against hope that the terrified chocobo wouldn't trip or fling me off its back. Eventually, I realised that the regular, pounding explosions had ceased, along with the oh-so-terrifying whistling of incoming shells. With a bit of work, I managed to ease Connor down to a canter, and then a walk, as around me the others did the same thing.

"Oh my...oh my gods," Locke was laughing maniacally, "Nothin' like being chased by an Imperial tank to really get yer day started, eh?"

"No, indeed not," I snorted, and gave my chocobo a reassuring pat, "It gave Connor here a bit of a fright, certainly."

"We were just lucky that was such a sloppy ambush," Edgar said, "If it had been closer, or if-"

Suddenly, a nearby dune began to shift and shudder with the whine of protesting machinery, and then with a great deluge of sand it split clean down the middle, revealing the bright, shining armour of a massive, hulking Imperial Golem.

"Oh, he _never_..." Locke breathed, as an enormous foot slammed down on the desert floor.

"It's Kefka! He's nuts!" I said frantically, "He probably thought it was _funny_!"

"But how-"

"Never mind that now!" Edgar yelled, "Let's go-"

There was a loud, resonating 'ker-chunk' from deep within the Golem's interior, and I braced myself for the inevitable point-blank shot. Instead, a large, glass-like protrusion on the front of the tank suddenly started glowing an ominous actinic blue, accompanied by an annoying, high-pitched whine that was just on the edge of hearing.

"What's _that_?" Locke said, kicking Alexander back up to speed, "What's it doing?"

"I think that's the laser," Terra gave Edgar a sharp look; "Your notes are out of date, Your Majesty. They said they couldn't get that working!"

"Not now, Tee!" I said, and urged Connor towards the nearest sand dune, "We have to get out of sight before that thing discharges!"

"Shields?"

"Can't stop lasers!" I replied, and scratched my arm leg in a painful memory, "Believe me, it was thoroughly tested."

"But wh-"

"Something about wave-particle du- look, it doesn't matter right now! Just go!"

We very, _very_ nearly made it. By sheer chance, both Edgar and Terra had been in the right position when the Golem burst out from the sand dune, and managed to scurry behind another, even larger dune before the tank's laser had reached full power. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Locke and I; even before we were halfway there, I could tell that we were going to be clean out of luck.

"I think it may be time for somethin' magical, pal," Locke, clearly, was thinking the same thing.

"I'll try;" I said dubiously, "Kefka really took it out of me, though."

"I'm not suggestin' anything flashy; just keep it off our back for a sec or so."

"Well, let's see," I looked at the Golem, and then at the sandy dunes around us, "Hmm...take the reins for me. I think I've got an idea."

Trusting Locke to keep us on an even keel, I closed my eyes and gathered together what magical power still remained from my tussle with Kefka. While I couldn't stop the laser from firing, I could _probably_ get enough sand into the air to block the tank's vision and scatter the laser beam, if it came to take. Gritting my teeth, I selected a point a little way behind us and drove my mind into the ground with as much force as I could muster.

From behind us, there was a rather unimpressive '_whump'_, and I looked over my shoulder to see a pathetically small cloud of dust rise gently into the air.

"Huh," I said, after a moment, "'Guess I was more drained than I thought."

"Oh, aye?" Locke asked, sarcastically, "Got a better plan? One yer _can_ do?"

"Well, I-"

The irritating, whining noise suddenly became a dangerous, knife-edged tone, and Locke screamed and arched his back as the Golem's laser neatly traced a blackened, charred line across his shoulder blades.

"Locke!" I cried, and made a grab for him as he swayed and toppled limply out of his saddle. Caught off-balance and off-guard, his weight managed to yank me off Connor's back and face-first into the scorching hot desert sands. As I rose, spitting sand, Connor decided that it was a perfect time to bolt for the safety of the dunes leaving Locke and I in full view of the Golem.

"Come back here, you cowardly _bastard_!" I screamed at the retreating bird, "I'm going to sell you to the glue factory, y'hear? _The glue factory!_"

While that may have made me feel a little better, I could already hear the Golem's laser powering up for another go. Quickly, I knelt down beside the thief and gave him a gentle shake of the arm.

"Hey, Locke!" I said, and gagged as the stench of burned flash filled my nostrils, "Locke!"

There was no response, and from the unfocused, glazed look in his eyes I guessed he was either in shock or unconscious. Still, I couldn't just leave him here for the Golem...

"This is _twice_ I've had to carry you, mate," I remarked, as I hauled him over my shoulders and set off quickly across the shifting sands, "I'm not criticising you or anything, but I'd take it as a personal favour if you'd lose some damn weight."

The sand shifted treacherously under my feet as I staggered determinedly towards safety, ever mindful of the steadily increasing pitch of the Golem's laser. In my mind's eye, I could already feel a sharp, burning sensation as it sliced across my leg muscles...

"Please, Callista," I muttered under my breath, "Just another few meters, that's all I ask. I'll be good! I'll work on my bedside manner! I'll even learn to sing in tune! Just get us-"

Once again, the whining noise of the laser reached its highest pitch, and I could see a line of sand hiss and spit as the invisible beam sped towards me. Just before it could make contact with my soft, juicy flesh, there was a tremendous '_bang!'_ from somewhere underground, and then a cloud of rock and dust suddenly erupted from the desert, scattering the beam uselessly across the sky.

"Wow," I said, after a moment, "Thanks, Calli-"

"_Firma!_" Terra's cry shook me out of my trance, and I looked up from the shifting desert to see a silhouette, wavering in the heat, come dashing towards me across the sands, "Are you hurt? Did it burn you?"

"I'm fine," I said breathlessly, "Actually, scratch that; I think I may be having a heart attack."

"Thank the heavens," my sister exhaled noisily, obvious relief in her voice and expression, "When I heard that scream, and then the chocobos came in without you, I thought...I thought..."

"A few bumps and bruises; Locke here caught the worst of it," I looked over my shoulder at the settling sands, "Was...was that you?"

"Yeah," Terra said, and smiled happily, "I just thought of it at the last minute. Wasn't it amazing?"

"It was...unexpected, certainly," I said, and then raised an eyebrow, "You know, that smirk really doesn't become you, Tee."

"What? It's not every day I get to answer your prayers," she smiled sympathetically, "C'mon, give me Locke; you look absolutely exhausted."

"Thanks," I said, and let her haul the unconscious thief off my back, "Where's Edgar, anyway? Shouldn't we be making tracks?"

"And leave that thing to follow us? I don't bloody think so," Terra gave the distant, wavering shape of the Golem a steely glare; "_Nobody_ takes potshots at _my_ brother."

"Tee," I sighed, "I appreciate the sentiment, but surely-"

"Edgar has a plan, too."

"Really?" I rolled my eyes, "Well, lead on; this I _have_ to see."

Edgar and Terra had set up camp on the shady side of the dune between us and the Golem, and as we approached I could see the king sitting cross-legged on the sands, working furiously on some large, metal object with a wide assortment of totally alien tools. Nearby, the four enormous chocobos were drinking deep from waterproofed skins, and I couldn't help but notice that Connor seemed to be doing his best to avoid looking me in the eye.

"You found them, then?" he said tensely, as we approached, "That's something, at least."

"Don't start, your Majesty," Terra said shortly, "Firma was _this _close to getting cut in half."

"Well, that could've been two of you," Edgar said angrily, and threw one of his tools to the ground in disgust.

"Three of us, actually," she replied, and carefully lowered Locke to the floor, "Locke's hurt."

"Badly?"

"Third degree burn, from the looks of it," I said, "I'll bandage it for now to keep the sand out, but I can't do anything about the burn until I've recharged my batteries. What's going on here?"

"We _were_ about to mount a rescue operation," Edgar said, waving the long, tube-like object around absently, "But then your sister decided to go running off on her own..."

"And I was right to do so!" Terra snapped, "Firma-"

"Edgar? Tee? The, uh, Golem is going to be on top of us any minute!" I pointed out, as the air crackled between the two, "What are we going to do about it?"

Right on cue, there was a large, ominous thud from the other side of the dune, prompting a short, sharp shower of sand. Edgar and Terra glared at each other for a moment longer, and then Edgar finally, thankfully, dropped his gaze.

"You were right, and I apologise," Edgar said, "Anyway, I think I've done about as well as I can do with this thing."

"What is that 'thing'?" I asked, looking up momentarily from Locke's injury, "Looks almost like-"

"It's an automated repeating crossbow," the king said, "Or at least it _was_. At the moment, it's a glorified slingshot."

"Uh-huh," for now, I decided not to ask _why_ Edgar would be in possession of such a thing, "So, what're you slinging with it?"

"One of these," Edgar held up a small, silvery globe that glowed brightly in the morning sun, "Remember these?"

"Your anti-Titan grenades? How could I forget?" I blinked, "Hold on, are you genuinely suggesting that we _attack_ that bloody thing? The fifteen foot tall battle tank? The thing we were _running_ from?"

"If we keep running, eventually it'll run us down," Edgar said calmly, "This grenade should disable it long enough for us to disable it, climb aboard, and stop the pilot."

"'Stop', right?" I snorted, "He'll be armed, too."

"Your shields can stop a pistol round, can't they?"

"At the moment I don't have any shields to speak of, Majesty," I smiled glassily, "Something about saving your life comes to mind."

"That's okay, I do," Terra piped up, "Besides, you need to stay here and look after Locke."

"So the plan is for Edgar here to pop the Golem with that grenade, and then you'll run in bravely and take it down? _Alone_?"

"Well-"

"I'm coming with you, Tee," I said shortly, "If you get lasered in the face, _somebody's_ going to have to carry your charred corpse back here."

"But-"

"No buts; I'm your superior, remember?"

Terra muttered something rebellious, and then said, "Fine! Have it your way!"

"_Thank_ you."

"Okay, you two," the king squared his shoulders and stood up, "I'm going to climb to the top of this dune and get a bead on the Golem. When it gets close enough, I'll 'pop' it, as you say, with this grenade, and then you two can get in close."

"Sounds simple," I said. For just a moment, I wished that Celes was here to be both opinionated and tactical.

"And listen for the signal. It'll sound like this-" Edgar pulled the trigger on his tube, and a crisp _twang_ echoed out of the barrel, "-after that; you'll have a couple of seconds before the Golem shorts, and then maybe thirty seconds before it comes back to life. You'll probably want to be onboard by then."

"Gotcha."

"And-"

"We understand, Edgar," Terra said, and gave me a worried look, "Come on, _sir_. We'd better get moving."

"I can't believe we're doing this," I muttered, as we crept quietly along the side of the dune. While the Golem was still out of sight, the regular, pounding thumps from not-so-far away were a constant reminder that it was both present and getting closer by the second, "Attacking a Magitek tank on foot..."

"_I_ wanted you to stay and look after Locke," Terra pointed out tensely, "But _no_, apparently that's not macho enough for you."

"Oh please," I snorted, "I think I fulfilled my macho quota for the day when I took the bullet for Edgar. Probably for the week, actually."

"And yet, you're still here," Terra tried again, "Are you afraid I might upstage you?"

"You might be tempted to try," I said, and crouched low behind the sands. The large, dark shape of the Golem wavered unsteadily in the heat, but it was clearly still drawing ever closer to our position, "And that can only possibly end in tears."

"But-" Terra sighed, "I guess I'm not going to change your mind, am I."

"Nope," I shrugged. There was a long, awkward silence, punctuated only by the thud of another massive, mechanical step, "Are you scared?"

"Me? Oh, yes," Terra laughed, but there was no humour in it, "I guess you could say...I'm terrafied!"

"Ho, ho, _ho_," I said sarcastically, and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder, "We'll get through this. We've come too far to back down now!"

"_You_ have, you mean," Terra pointed out, "I was a little late to all of this. Maybe I'm a jinx..."

"Tee, if you're going to be morose about being shot to pieces by a Golem then you can sodding well go and look after Locke, okay?"

"What?"

"We're Mage Knights!" I said, with somewhat false cheer, "We're the most powerful magic users on the face of the planet!"

"Barring Kefka?"

"We're the most powerful magic users in this desert!"

"But Kefka-"

"We're the most powerful magic users in the immediate vicinity!"

"And-"

"Shut up, Tee!" I said, probably louder than I intended, "We're _Mage Knights_! No mechanical monstrosity is going to tell us what to do, is it?"

"...no?" a flicker of hope dawned in Terra's eyes, as she finally cottoned on to what I was trying to do, "No, it's _not!_"

"No?"

"No!" Terra shouted.

"And what are we going to do about that?"

"We're going to...to..." Terra thought about this, and then, "We're going to show it what for, that's what!"

"Really?"

"_Yeah!_" Terra was on her feet now, "I'm...I'm going to teach it a lesson it won't soon forget!"

"...and?" there was nobody quite like Terra for not _quite_ getting the point.

"I'm going to take that laser and shove it so far up the driver's ars-"

Thankfully, at that moment the desert air was cut with a distinctive _twang_, prompting me to ask, "Hey, was that the signal?"

"That..." my sister stopped ranting long enough to listen, "That was the signal!"

"Shall we go?"

"Hold on...what is it people say?" Terra thought about it for a second, then pointed her finger at the Golem and yelled, "Charge!"

"Wait, I forgot my-"

"_Charge!_"

The sand ground beneath our feet as we hurtled towards the Golem, yelling incoherently at the top of our voices. The pre-battle jitters were completely gone now, and were replaced with a rush of adrenaline that seemed to carry us effortlessly over the desert towards the motionless machine.

"Look, Firma!" Terra had noticed it too, "It's not moving! It _can't_ move!"

"I know!" I replied jubilantly, "Watch out; I don't think it'll take the driver long before he-"

There was a flash of light and a _crack_ from the top of the golem, and a small puff of sand kicked up just in front of us.

"Rifle!" I shouted, somewhat redundantly.

"Oh no you don't!" Terra shouted angrily, her killer instinct coming to the fore, "There's a laser crystal out there with your colon's name on it!"

"Tee-"

"But in the meantime-!" my sister called a fireball into existence with a roar of heat and sound, and with a cry of exertion hurled it towards the Golem. Trailing smoke and flames, it slammed into the brilliantly burnished midsection of the tank, scorching the metal and obscuring the cockpit from view. A moment later, there was another _crack_, followed by a sudden flare and a shriek of tortured metal as Terra's shields caught and stopped the bullet.

"Oh, he's quite good," I said admiringly.

"Well, if at first you don't succeed..." Terra said grimly, and prepared another fireball for the man's consideration.

"Hold on a sec; let's try this together," I quickly pooled as much magic as was safe, and a crackling ball of white-hot electric death appeared in the palm of my hand, "Now!"

Both electric and fire balls streaked towards their target. They touched, and suddenly, with a brilliant flash of light, combined to form a large, amorphous mass of flame that cracked and spat golden tongues of lightning. The new entity burst upon the charred metal of the Golem showering the cockpit with chunks of flame, while forks of electricity scurried up and down the metal structure of the tank. This time, there was no retort.

"Wow," Terra said after a moment, "We really _are_ the most powerful magic users in the immediate vicinity!"

"Let's congratulate ourselves later, Tee," I said sharply, "Let's get up there while he's recovering."

From far away, the Golem was merely intimidating; up close, it was utterly terrifying. Even deactivated, the fifteen feet of heavily burnished armour and the stupidly oversized weaponry made my blood run cold. Terra, however, was too focused on amateur proctology to be dissuaded by mere cannons, and made a beeline for a ladder that ran down the side of the right leg. Taking the rungs two at a time, she vanished quickly into the heat haze, and I braced myself for the inevitable gunshot or scream of pain as she had it out with the man who was no doubt waiting at the top.

There was a long, painful silence, and eventually I called up, "Tee? What's going on up there?"

"Look out below!" came the cheerful reply, and a moment later a limp, armoured body fell from the cockpit and hit the sand with an almighty _crash!_ A little surprised by this turn of events, I wandered over and nudged it gently with my foot.

"_Tee?_"

"He was dead!" my sister protested, "Or...I think he was dead!"

"His neck's broken!"

"Probably broke it trying to dodge that enormous fireball," Terra said confidently, "It's a little academic though, isn't it? I mean, we were going to kill him anyway!"

"I thought we were going to stop him!"

"He is stopped! He is the most stopped it is possible to be without not existing!"

"Well, I see you going far in the Sentinels, Tee," I muttered to myself, but called up, "Fine, fine; I'm coming up, okay?"

The metal ladder was painfully hot in the desert sun, but not unbearable. Slowly, I worked my way up the side of the Golem and, just as I reached the top, was rewarded by a series of whirrs and loud beeps as the tank started to revive itself.

"High up here, isn't it!" Terra's remark right by my ear damn near scared me clean off the ladder. My knuckles whitened as my grip tightened around the ladder rung, and I slowly, slowly looked down to see the desert sands all too far away.

"Yes, Tee," I swallowed, and gave her a tight smile, "Thank you for pointing that one out to me. The gods know I may have missed that one."

"You're scared of heights?" her face creased momentarily in concern.

"Glad to see your memory's coming back to you," I bit out, "Now, what do we have?"

"Not much...but something!" she smiled, indicating the partially blackened controls. To the untrained eye they seemed almost incomprehensible; while I guessed that the sticks and the foot pedals were _probably_ used to move the damn thing around, the rest of the switches seemed to either be unlabeled or carried useful tidbits like 'Magitek Infusion I' or 'Flux Capacitor Pre-ignition'. Worryingly, the lights next to a lot of the switches were either red or completely dark, suggesting that we had managed to do a fair amount of damage in our little trade off with the tank.

"I think Edgar's grenades are a bit more effective than he thought," Terra said. As she spoke, some of the darkened lights slowly started to glow a deep, sullen red, while another flipped from red to green, "I doubt that that little electrical storm of yours-"

"-ours-"

"-helped all that much, either," she sighed, and ran her hands over the joysticks, "I know I've used one of these before, Firma. Several times, I think, and before, um, Narshe."

"That'd be a surprise to me," to be honest, it was, "Still; you were being secretive about _something_ before everything went pear-shaped."

"Maybe that was it," Terra smiled weakly, "I...think I can get this moving, and _maybe_ I can get the cannon online. Do you think Edgar would let me keep it?"

"He's already given you a prize chocobo, Tee," I laughed, eager to keep her from plunging into melancholy again, "Don't you think that would be a little greedy?"

"Yeah, I guess," she giggled suddenly, "On the other hand, I _am_ the one sitting in the Golem. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, you know!"

"That sounds familiar; have you been talking to Locke?" for no apparent reason, both of us found this incredibly funny.

"This isn't nearly shiny enough for him!" Terra laughed, "Not anymore, anywa-"

A loud 'bang' and the dreaded, insistent whistling noise suddenly brought us back to reality, and then the Golem rocked as a shell blew a large chunk out of the nearest dune. Caught completely unawares, I lost my grip on the ladder, and hung on by my fingertips for a single, heart-stopping moment before Terra grabbed me and yanked me inside. Blood was running down her face, courtesy of a nasty-looking cut on her forehead, but her eyes were focused as she sat down and strapped herself into the driver's chair.

"Tee, let me look at that-"

"No time!" she said, wiping at her forehead, "That's the other Golem out there! It must know that we managed to capture this one!"

"Good thing he can't aim, whoever he is," I said, and braced myself between the seat and the back of the cockpit, "Can you get this thing moving?"

"Hold on-" Terra put one foot firmly down on a pedal, and was rewarded by a painful grinding noise as the corresponding foot lifted, moved slightly forward, and slammed into the desert with a tooth-rattling jolt, "-I, um, I think we broke the suspension, too."

"Abandon Golem?"

"No! I can do this!" she said, and slapped at my hand, "And stop trying to Sentinel me!"

"Okay, okay!" I shrank back and put my hands over my head, "It's all you, Tee."

There were a further series of beeps as Terra brought the tank ponderously around to face its opponent. Once again, I heard the loud 'bang' of a cannon discharge, and again the Golem rocked dangerously as the sand shifted beneath our feet.

"Terra, we need more power!" I yelled.

"It can't give us anymore power!" Terra replied, "I think we may have broken that, too!"

"Well, what's the plan?"

Terra didn't reply, but out of the blackened cockpit window I could just about make out the shape of our perfectly-assembled opponent. Smoke was coming out of the large cannon bolted to its left arm, and I could hear the loud, ominous 'ker-chunk' as another shell was slotted neatly into the chamber.

"Tee, this is insane! We're-"

There was another bang, and this time the Golem jolted with such force that I was slammed, hard, into the back of the driver's chair, knocking Terra half-out of her restraints and into one of the joysticks.

"Ah, sod!" I said, clutching at my throbbing head, "Tee, are you-?"

"Jus' winded," she said, taking a series of long, deep breaths, "That must've been a dud shell..."

"So he _hit _us? Tee-"

"...won't get a second chance," Terra pressed a button, and there was an even louder, more ominous 'ker-chunk' from just beneath us, "Let's see how you like _this_!"

The Golem rocked back slightly as the cannon went off, and the cockpit of the opponent vanished under a wave of smoke and shrapnel.

"See? Nothing to-"

From somewhere in the smoke, a bright actinic glow suddenly appeared. A moment later, a blue beam stabbed out and connected with our cannon in a shower of sparks, and I could hear the creaks and groans of dangerously stressed steel.

"That...he's cutting off our cannon!" Terra protested, "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Why don't you _do_ that?" I asked sharply, "We're not taking turns here, y'know!"

"Because..." Terra scanned over the board, "Because our laser is fried, that's why!"

"So, abandon Golem?" I went to press the release on her restraints, "C'mon, Tee, it's over!"

"No, it isn't!" she slapped at my hand again, "I...yes! I have a plan!"

"Which is...?"

"This!" Terra pushed both sticks forward hard, and began hammering desperately away at the pedals. From somewhere, the Golem seemed to acquire a new sense of purpose, and surged towards the enemy even as our cannon hit the ground with a large _thud_.

"Losing weight...that's good," Terra muttered to herself, and adjusted the angle of her attack slightly, "Can't let him touch off the ammunition yet..."

"Tee, what are you doing?"

"Hold on!" she cried, "Almost there!"

To call it 'ramming' would be a bit of an overstatement, considering the comparatively slow speed of the Golem. Still, Terra did her best, and with a deafening 'clang' and another bone-rattling jolt the two Golems came roughly into contact with one another. My sister gave the rather confused looking driver of the other tank a cheerful wave, and then quickly popped her restraints.

"Now we go!" she gestured at the exit, "You first, Firma!"

"You're-"

"You'll see!"

Quickly, I hopped out of the cockpit and raced down the ladder. Skipping the last few rungs, I landed roughly in the desert just as Terra emerged from the top. Descending with similar speed, my sister paused just once where the cannon had been to toss a red, glowing object into the cavernous depths of the Golem, and then let go of the ladder and plummeted the last few feet to the ground.

"Run!" she screamed, and took off into the desert with a speed borne of utter fear. Still a few moments behind events, I followed suit and we struggled together through the thick, shifting sands until we were on the other side of the nearest dune.

"Tee-"

"Don't stop, Firma!" she yelled, "I have no idea what-"

Behind us, there was an explosion so loud it almost defied description, and we were both thrown roughly to the ground as flames torched the air and sand bit at our skin. Struggling to stand through the smoke and flames, I dove to the floor again as a series of detonations went off all around us. Pain exploded as something red-hot stabbed into the palm of my left hand, and then everything dissolved into blinding white light and roaring sound.

When I came to, I found myself lying on the blackened, vitrified surface of the desert, which sizzled and spat in places as it slowly cooled. I seemed to at least have all my limbs, and barring the ringing in my ears, and the horrible stabbing pain in my left hand, I seemed to have come through at least reasonably well. Looking down, I saw that a long, bloodied sliver of metal had pierced both sides of my hand. Deciding that that could wait for the moment, I clambered to my feet and trudged off through the burned sand, looking for any sign of my sister.

Eventually, I found her lying at the end of a long furrow, evidence of the force of her landing. Fortunately, it appeared that her shields had managed to take the grand majority of the impact, as aside from a few bumps and scrapes, not to mention the cut to her forehead, she seemed to be otherwise fine. As I approached she slowly inched herself up on her elbows and smiled distantly.

"Ssee?" she slurred, "I told you I had a plan."

"You touched off the ammunition?" I snorted, "Bloody hell, Tee; you could've warned me."

"I think it may have touched off the Magitek power packsss, too," she continued, "Didn't 'spect that..."

"Can you stand?" I said, and offered her my good hand. Slowly, she grasped it and clambered unsteadily to her feet, "I think you'll be okay. Just take it easy for a little while, okay?"

"Your hand looksss awful, Firma," Terra said, with idle concern, "Maybe you ssshould do something about that."

"I will; I just need time to rest, first," I said, feeling a sudden wave of weariness come over me, "Still, I think it's finally over."

Naturally, at that exact point there was a brilliant flash of light, and Terra and I found ourselves confronted with the same white, glowing shape that we had seen an age ago.

"Over, my dear MK2?" Kefka's voice was dark and menacing, "It will _never_ be over."

"Are you annoyed because we blew up your toysss?" Terra said, and giggled, "Hey, that rhymed!"

"You will _pay_ for all of this, both of you!" the apparition snarled, "I offered you the chance to come back and serve the Empire, and this is how you decide to repay my _kindness_? I will hunt you down, you despicable little children! I _will_ find you and make you mine! I _hate_ you, both of you! You dirty little lab-rats! You sons of-"

"Submariners?" Terra offered, with a rather unfocused smile. Kefka gave a bone-chilling, maniacal howl.

"_No!_ You _stupid_ little girl! I will make _you_ watch as you burn everyone you ever cared about! I'll make you torch the world...I'll make it all burn! It will _all_ burn!"

There was another maniacal howl, and with a flash Kefka was gone.

"Okay," I said, after a long, awkward moment, "_Now_ it's over."


	25. Chapter 6: Whispers

**Chapter 6 – Whispers**

Well, that was a lot of something, wasn't it! I bet you were all _literally_ on the edge of your seats the entire time! Or...not, because the smarter ones amongst you have probably cottoned on to the fact that I couldn't _possibly_ be sitting here typing this out if I had taken a cannon shell to the face all those years ago. For the rest of you; don't listen to them! You and I both know that that was a buttock-clenching situation where death could have come at any moment, and nobody's going to ruin that for us! _Nobody!_ On an unrelated note, please stop eating your toenails.

For those of you who _don't_ look upon your feet as a source of nutrition: remember when I said that assaulting a Magitek tank on foot is a really, _really_ bad idea? I stand by that comment. Okay, so I may still be alive despite _numerous_ encounters with such weapon systems, but that's only because I'm really, really lucky. You think the Golems are bad? They're the _babies_ of the Magitek line: the more advanced variants incorporate delightful tricks like micro-rocket pods, chainguns, magic projectors, chemical weaponry and (no, I'm not making this up) a subwoofer that can blast the skin clean off your bones and bring a skyscraper crashing to its metaphorical knees. Let's face it; if my young, wet-behind-the-ears self had actually _encountered_ those Titans in Narshe, my last words probably would have been along the lines of 'By gum, Locke, those tanks are a bit lar-!'.

Unfortunately, some idiots just can't let a bad idea lie. Apparently, there's a rumour flying around that Tzenia are in the process of building an even _bigger_ Magitek tank with extra lasers, a fission bomb launcher, and an all-leather interior. The _really_ stupid thing about this is that this wouldn't be the first time; the original was captured by Albrenk separatists, and had it not been for the efforts of a certain treasure hunter (and his dashing Sentinel sidekick) most of Tzen would've vanished underneath a colossal fireball of atomic fury. I suppose that it's _possible_ that the damn fools will install some sort of abort code this time, but that's probably wishful thinking on my part.

For now, however, I can quite happily file all such dangers under 'not my bloody problem, chief' because Terra, my fiancée, and I are all packed and ready to get moving towards Mobliz! It may be a couple of weeks to Midwinters', but personally I can't _wait_ for the opportunity to put my feet up, enjoy a nice winter warmer, and watch stir-crazy children fight to the death for my amusement. It'll be paradise; just you see!

For now, however, let's get back to the desert.

While Terra and I had somehow managed to survive our little encounter, it was clear that both of us had been battered and beaten well beyond the limits of our endurance. As my adrenaline slowly ebbed, I could feel a dull, insistent ache settle into every muscle in my body, accompanied by countless little stabbing pains from where I had been showered by red-hot sand and shrapnel. My speared hand, too, burned with a raw agony that spiked every time I so much as twitched, but until I was able to muster up the magic necessary to deal with it I had no choice but to live with the pain.

Terra looked no better. While she had managed to avoid being similarly impaled, she sported scrapes and bruises that were easily the equal of my own. Worse, her face and hair were caked in dried, matted blood from the nasty gash across her forehead, and she walked with the unfocused eyes and unsteady gait of the mildly concussed.

"How're you feeling, Tee?" I said, eventually.

"'m getting a splitting headache," she said, quietly, "'feels like someone's using my head as a drum..."

"You...we should probably just rest for now," I replied, and sagged wearily to my knees, "I'm sure Edgar'll come looking for us shortly."

"You think?" Terra looked around dubiously at the blackened wasteland, "If I were him, I'd've written us off after an explosion like that..."

"He'll come looking," I said confidently, "'Sides, I don't think either of us is up for wandering around in the desert."

"I s'pose," my sister flopped to the ground beside me, "All that walking was making me nauseous, anyway."

"Mmm," I said noncommittally. I began to focus my efforts on my magical reserves, and felt a bit of life return to my bruised body as my supplies slowly started to replenish themselves. Another ten, maybe fifteen minutes of really solid concentration, and I'd probably be in a position to get this damn stick out of my hand...

"Um, Firma?" Terra's voice intruded on my little patch of calm, "Are...why're you meditating? I didn't think Sentinels-"

"They don't," I said, "It's a trick Cid came up with to help me, uh, get a magical second wind."

"Oh," this was given due consideration, "Who's Cid?"

I thought about this for a moment, "He's the head of the Empire's Magitek research division. Nice guy. Awful dress sense. He helped design those tanks we just blew up."

"He doesn't _sound_ like a 'nice guy'."

"This, coming from the person who wanted her very own chainsaw and hockey mask..." I snorted, "Give the guy some credit; when it comes to magic, he taught us everything we know."

"In retrospect, that may have been a waste of his time," Terra said, with a quirk of her lips.

"Well, no, not since you carelessly went and forgot it all," I said, a little heartened by that comment, "Still, don't worry; I'm here to pick up the pieces."

"Jerk," Terra said wryly, but then the smile faded, "But...Kefka's not going to wait around for me to get any better, is he?"

"He's not known for his patience, no."

"...and you saw what he did in the throne room, didn't you?"

"You mean the enormous, soul-devouring embodiment of evil?" I ran my fingers through my hair, "Tee, I'm going to be having nightmares about that thing for _weeks_."

"Well, I, um...I," she faltered, and I could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes, "I'm _scared_, Firma."

"I know, Tee," I said reassuringly, "If it helps, I'm absolutely bloody terrified myself."

"Really?" she sounded surprised.

"Yeah, really," I frowned, "Didn't you hear me screaming like a little girl? I'm pretty sure that was me."

"That was Locke," Terra smiled weakly.

"Oh."

"Besides, you didn't _seem_ scared when you saved Edgar's life," she added, an almost defiant tone in her voice, "You almost seemed eager to confront him."

"That's just because I knew what Kefka was going to do," I said, seriously, "To be honest; I was shaking like a leaf and very nearly threw up all over the royal carpets. I would've done, too," I added, "If I'd had a proper breakfast this morning instead of chewing you out."

"You're...kind of ruining my image of you here, Firma," Terra said worriedly, "I was hoping you could tell me how not to be scared, but you're telling me that you're just as frightened? That's not helpful!"

"Why not?" I shrugged, "Where did you get the idea that you can't be afraid?"

"Huh? But-"

"Look, let me tell you two things my flight instructor once told me," I said, and held up a finger, "One; 'a fearless man is someone who's too stupid or too unimaginative to know they should be afraid'. Two-" a second finger went up, "-'Being brave _isn't_ the same as being fearless. Being brave is being able to face your fears and overcome them'. You were scared of Kefka and that Golem, but you faced them anyway, didn't you?"

"Well, yes..." Terra admitted, eventually, "But I didn't really have a choice, either."

"You could've surrendered, or run away, or frozen up," I pointed out, "In fact, at that point running away probably would've been the smartest, most pragmatic choice."

"_You_ didn't run."

"That's 'cause I'm fearless," I snorted, "Anyway, I'm not worried about you suddenly bolting - in fact, I'm more afraid about you getting in over your head 'cause you're too proud to back down. You're not a coward, Tee, and you don't need to prove it to anyone."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Dead sure," I said, and smiled briskly, "In any case; I think I've recovered enough to deal with my hand. If you'll excuse me..."

There are times when I am really, _really_ thankful to have been gifted with magical abilities. It has to be said, however, that I found a new level of appreciation for magical anaesthetic when removing that blasted piece of shrapnel, a procedure that largely involved wrenching a piece of metal the size and shape of a pencil backwards and forwards until it finally came loose with a rather unpleasant grating noise.

"Done!" I said, dropping the bloodied shard next to my foot, "And I only whimpered a little."

"Done?" Terra craned her neck, "How is it done? I can see right through your hand."

"Give it a few moments," I said patiently. Around the torn flesh, a brilliant blue-gold light flared into existence accompanied by the sharp smell of ozone, and I felt the familiar aching and itching of mending tissue. When the light had faded, all that remained was fresh, baby-pink skin and a few flakes of dried blood that scattered like ash when I shook my hand.

"Impressive," my sister commented, and then gestured at the nasty gash on her forehead, "Can you deal with this?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, and got to work with a flicker of blue-gold light and a brief shower of sparks, "In the long-term, I think it'll be a good idea if I show you how it's done."

"Agreed."

The promised rescue came a short while later in the form of Edgar and a small chocobo convoy. Squinting through the haze, I could just about make out the recumbent form of our resident thief slung roughly across the back of the largest of the four. Based on the litany of curses coming from his general direction, I got the distinct feeling that Edgar hadn't had the chance to do much with the poor man's injuries.

"Thank goodness you're alive!" Edgar said, slowing the chocobos to a halt and providing us with some blessed shade, "After that explosion..."

"Speaking for myself, I wish I weren't," Terra said, a little tartly, "Could you keep it down, please?"

"She has a headache," I added, by way of explanation.

"Ah," Edgar looked around at the vitrified, wreckage-strewn desert, "What actually _happened_ here? When the second tank turned up, I thought we were done for!"

Quickly, Terra pencilled in the events leading to the destruction of the two hulking machines.

"So there's nothing left of either Golem? I was hoping..." Edgar quailed in the face of Terra's sudden glare, "Y-you know what? We're all alive and that's what matters!"

"For a given value of 'alive', anyway. What _have_ you done to Locke?" I indicated the whimpering man with a jerk of my head, "Has he had any fluids? Have you given him any painkillers?"

"What painkillers?"

"Don't we have any-" I stopped, as an uneasy realisation popped into the back of my head, "No, of _course_ we don't. Why? Because I forgot to bloody pack them, that's why!"

"Sorry," Terra looked a little abashed, "I should've reminded you."

I shook my head, "It's not your fault, Tee. It was my responsibility. I'll deal with Locke now and we'll grab some in South Figaro," waving it aside for now, I trudged over to the quietly moaning thief and said, "Hey, chief! How're you feeling?"

"About as good as you look, pal," Locke growled, "How'd you manage to get covered in so much blood?"

"Terra decided to play with high explosives," I snorted, "How's the burn?"

"It doesn't hurt, if that's what yer mean," he replied, "And yeah, I know that that isn't a good thing."

"No," I gently peeled back the gauze to give the dry, leathery skin a closer inspection, "No it isn't. You know that you're one _lucky_ bastard, right?"

"Oh, aye?" Locke retorted, "How?"

"Well, another second or so of that laser and you'd be stealing fire from the gods," I laughed briefly, and then rubbed my hands together, "Still; this shouldn't be beyond my abilities. I've dealt with worse, certainly. Tee?"

"Yes?" Terra looked up, "What?"

"Come over here; I want you to watch this."

"But I-"

"Leave the chocobos to Edgar, Tee," I said firmly, "You want to learn about healing magic? That starts now."

Despite my drained reserves and a constant stream of questions from my pupil, it took only about half an hour to regenerate the dead tissue on Locke's back into brand new, baby-pink skin. By that point, Edgar had managed to prepare a brief brunch for both us and the chocobos, and once fed and watered we set off towards Katastari to catch our train and, hopefully, a brief respite.

The town of Katastari was a dusty, decaying town that was clearly well past its hey-day. As we approached the town I could make out several large, dilapidated buildings in varying states of disrepair. Boarded up doors and broken windows were common, and several buildings sported collapsed roofs and badly damaged supporting pillars covered in vegetation. One of the warehouses we passed had been reduced to a corroding metal framework, with a couple of pieces of corrugated sheet metal clinging on desperately overhead.

While the centre of town was slightly better, it still had the same oppressive feeling of being a dying place. The buildings were all short, squat affairs, being two or three stories tall at the most, and while they had originally been painted in bright, cheery colours, the ravages of time and intense sunlight had bleached and cracked the paintwork. At one point we passed a small, empty playground. Its single, rusty swing was squeaking disconsolately in the slight breeze, and I suddenly felt a chill despite the baking heat.

"Gloomy, isn't it?" Terra remarked, echoing my thoughts, "Where is everyone?"

"That's my father's fault, really," Edgar said, a little sadly, "This used to be the last stop-over for dignitaries and people wanting to visit the castle. Eventually, those people became the town's sole reason for existing, but when the high speed rail link was built, business just dried up."

"Aye, yer dad could be pretty short-sighted sometimes," Locke looked around, and sighed, "I think I was last here about six years ago, and it was pretty bad back then. I'd reckon that everyone who could get out _has_ gotten out by now."

From a couple of streets over there was a yell, and I jumped as a door banged shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Terra suddenly sit up and stare into the middle distance, although for the life of me I couldn't make out what she was looking at.

"Can we get to the train, please?" I said, a little nervously, "I don't know about you, but this place gives me the creeps."

"Relax, Firma," Locke's tone was reassuring, but totally at odds with the way he intently studied every door and window, "Katastari's always had a seedy side, but I'm sure we'll be long gone before its dark enough to be dangerous."

"I keep _trying_ to regenerate it," Edgar complained, "It's just..."

"Budget cuts, right?" the thief shook his head, "Won't help now, anyway. Katastari's finished; best you could do now is rehouse everyone and bulldoze the place before it turns into another Zozo. I don't think yer want something like _that_ anywhere near your castle."

"We'll see," Edgar said, rather noncommittally, "It may be dying, but this is still somebody's home. I'd rather not rob them of that if it's at all possible."

I would like to present the above conversation as irrefutable proof that Locke can, on occasion, actually be _right_ about something. While I'm sure it would've been nice for the Katastari to have regained its lost glory, a smart king may have decided to just bite the bullet and scrap the town. Unfortunately, what we have _now_ is basically a ghettoised sprawl, filled with refugees, gangs, and unfortunate war-torn families for whom we _still_ haven't found housing. Thanks to the deprivation, crime, and general feeling of abandonment by the Figaran government (who, in all fairness, are having plenty of issues of their own) the entire bloody place is a powder keg, and to be quite frank everyone is just holding their breath and waiting for that _one_ event that is going to reduce the entire place to a flaming ruin.

Katastari's train station was situated close enough to the town to be associated with it, but not so close that it was necessary to actually _interact_ with anything or anyone that may be shambling around the crumbling town centre. Compared to the town, the train station was a gleaming, modern affair built from steel and glass, and attached to it was a large complex that appeared to contain a number of high-end shops and restaurants, as well as a small, but rather posh-looking hotel.

"This is new," Locke said, stepping into the cool shade with a rather sour expression on his face, "I'm guessin' that all the people wanting to get to Figaro Castle can cool their heels here while they wait for the shuttle, right? No need to go get their hands dirty out there in shabby old Katastari!"

"I think I agree with them," I said eventually.

"Hah," he snorted derisively, "At least Katastari used to have some history and culture! What's this place got?"

"It has a swimming pool," Terra said absently, looking at the store directory, "And a registered acupuncturist. I'm sorry, Locke," she added, and patted him gently on the shoulder, "But Katastari definitely had a certain..._atmosphere_ to it."

I looked up sharply at the word 'atmosphere', and caught the gaze of my sister. Almost imperceptibly, she nodded, and I felt another chill run up and down my spine.

"Say, Tee..." I said, casting my gaze desperately over the store directory, "They've got a sweet shop here; h-how'd you like to get some pralines before we set off?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea," she said, after a moment's pause, "Perhaps, while we are buying said pralines, you could also share with me a long and extremely detailed account of some inordinately boring event from our childhood!"

There was a long, awkward pause, and I glared incredulously at her over Locke's shoulder. Fortunately, he seemed to be far too wrapped up in his dislike of the shiny, new establishment to analyse Terra's attempt at subtlety.

"Yeah, good idea," he said, absently, and rummaged around in his wallet for a small blue note, "Grab me some travel sweets while you're at it, could you? I feel a bit of nausea comin' on."

"Sure," I shrugged, and motioned Terra quickly off to one side, "Back in a tick!"

The shops in the complex were situated in a small, circular plaza with a rather pretty little fountain in the middle. I looked over my shoulder to make certain that Locke wasn't skulking after us, and then quickly dragged my sister out of sight.

"Okay, Tee, what's up?" I asked urgently, "Why the, uh, _attempt_ at subterfuge?"

"I'm not trying to deceive anyone, Firma," Terra said, honestly, "I just...every time those two hear or see anything about magic it seems to take them five minutes to screw their heads back on. I'm far too hot and sweaty to deal with that."

"Fair enough," I grinned, "I'm guessing-"

"I sensed magic in Katastari, Firma," Terra plunged on, confirming my suspicions, "It wasn't strong, and I'm sure it wasn't directed at us, but it was definitely there."

"Actual magic? Not Magitek?"

"I-I'm not sure," Terra admitted, "It wasn't Kefka, though."

"No, you would've said something earlier if it was..." I shrugged, "Well, it's interesting, but I'm afraid I'm not really sure what to make of it at the moment, Tee. Can you describe it in any more detail?"

"Not really," she said, spreading her hands helplessly, "To be honest, I thought I was hearing things at first. You were drowning everything out..."

"Sorry," I said, a little tartly, "I'll try to exist less in the future."

"That might be a good idea," Terra replied blandly, "But anyway, what do we do about this? Do we tell Locke and Edgar?"

"Yeah, we do," I said firmly, "If we want them to trust us, we need to be as open and honest as possible. As for what we do about it? Well, if you hear it again let me know, okay?"

"Okay," Terra said, a little dubiously, "But-"

"Priorities, Tee," I pointed out, "We're being chased by a madman who can turn shadows into murderous demons and his magical ninja sidekick. We'll worry about your whispers when they become a threat to world peace, okay?"

"Fine," she sighed, "If that happens, do I get to tell you that I told you so?"

"If you must. Can we go and do what we said we were going to do now? I'd imagine keeping a king waiting is probably a breach of etiquette."

"Sure!" Terra's eyes suddenly lit up, presumably at the thought of sweet, sweet praline goodness, "Hold on; _really_? A magical ninja?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, "That's my best guess, anyway."

"But...she didn't look _that_ hard."

"'Kicked your arse."

"Oh."

We found Edgar and Locke chatting back at the entrance to the station, having emerged from the sweet shop with a small fortune's worth of pralines that, at her current rate of consumption, would probably last Terra all of fifteen minutes. Although Locke seemed to be rather unconcerned about our short expedition, Edgar's expression was one of extreme impatience, and he greeted us with a rather curt 'about time!'.

"Here's your travel sweets," I said, handing Locke a small paper bag, "And your change."

"Cheers pal," he said, popping one in his mouth and pocketing the coins, "His Majesty here'd like us to be on our way now."

"We're running a _little_ late, yes," Edgar said, "I've had our equipment and the chocobos loaded onto the train, so we're ready to go just as soon as you've checked your purchases."

"No need to be snippy," Terra admonished him, "Besides, you'll thank me if we ever need to interrogate a diabetic with a severe nut allergy."

Based on Edgar's expression, I gathered that he had never dealt with anyone quite like Terra on a sugar high. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something, but then he turned away with a faint growl of frustration and stalked off towards the train platforms. Locke shot my sister a quick grin, and then indicated that we should follow after the rapidly receding royal.

"I have to admit, I reckon that's the first time I've ever Edgar speechless," Locke laughed, "Good work, Terra!"

"Hah," I snorted, "Like she'd ever waste one of her precious sweeties on something like an interrogation."

"Who said anything about wasting?" Terra looked slightly confused, "All I need to do is pry open his mouth before rigor mortis sets in. It may need a bit of washing afterwards, though..."

"Is she often like this?" Locke shot me a sideways glance.

"...actually, I'd probably have to sterilise it somehow..."

"Only when she can feed her praline addiction," I shrugged, "The sugar always goes straight to her head."

"...maybe an atomic pile-hey!" my sister objected, "I'm _not_ addicted! I can give these up any time I like!" there was a 'crunch' as another praline met a grisly end, "I just...don't feel like it right now!"

"Of course not."

"It's true!"

"Can I have one?"

Terra laughed shortly in response, and strode off quickly in search of Edgar. For what felt like the umpteenth time that day, I exchanged a long, wearying glance with my Kohlinglese mate.

"Is she...going to be okay?" Locke asked, and then shook his head, "Actually, are _we_ going to be okay?"

"She'll be fine when she crashes out," I said, and decided to tell Locke what Terra had told me, "There is something odd, though. Terra sensed someone using magic back in Katastari."

"Oh, is that what she was tellin' you when you were off buying sweeties?" he said, archly, "I thought something was up."

"However did you guess?" I shook my head, "I'm just telling you, anyway. It was weak, but it shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"Hmm," Locke's expression had suddenly turned serious, "I'll get in contact with a friend of mine when we hit South Figaro. She'll be able to find out if there's anything strange going on 'round Katastari."

"Thanks," I said, "Tell her to look out for magical ninjas. We know that MK6 wasn't at Figaro Castle, so..."

"You reckon-"

"It's just a theory," I said quickly, "I'm not basing it on anything, but I can't really think of a happy alternative."

"Magitek equipment?" Locke suggested.

"How is _that_ a happy alternative?"

"'Could be worse," he added, "Maybe there's an unregistered magic user out there, just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strik-"

"Save the horror stories for Hallows Eve, mate," I said pointedly, "The last thing we need is more bloody Magitek Knights."

"Aye," he agreed, "Do you want me to tell Edgar?"

"Be my guest. Now, which one of these is our train?"

In all fairness, it was a bit of a rhetorical question. While Katastari train station had a grand, sweeping terminus, the effect was a little offset by the fact that there were only three trains in the station. Two of them seemed to be fairly standard commuter affairs, like the one that Locke and I had hurriedly disembarked en route to Figaro Castle. The third, however, was a rather impressive red-and-green affair with golden highlights that gleamed in the sun. As we walked briskly towards the train I saw, with a faintly sinking heart, that the crest of Figaro was emblazoned on every single carriage, as well as on the front of the engine currently facing us.

"Well, I always wanted to travel in style before I died," I remarked.

"Oh, aye?"

"Well, you do realise that we are going to be marked for death the instant someone sees us getting off this thing, right? That is, of course, assuming that our good friends in Imperial Intelligence let us get that far and don't just blow the tracks out from under the train."

"Edgar's normally a wee bit more subtle than this," Locke agreed, "When he said he had a train waiting, I didn't realise he meant his own _personal_ train."

"Reckon they're onboard?"

"Probably," Locke exhaled noisily, "Let's go find out what his grand plan is, shall we?"

The interior of Edgar's very own royal death-trap was...actually reasonably stylish, I decided. While it bore a _certain_ resemblance to the first-class carriage of our previous trip, it seemed rather more upmarket in a way that eluded me. It was, I decided, the little touches; the carpeting seemed ever so slightly thicker, and the ever-popular wood panelling just _looked_ like it had been hewn from some vanishingly rare species of tree that only existed at the tops of exceedingly tall mountains.

"Luxurious," I said, settling down in one of the seats with a certain amount of relief, "He wasn't joking when he said it was good to be the king, was he."

"Enjoy it while you can, pal. It ain't gonna last much longer," Locke said darkly, "I think His Majesty and I had better have a little talk about blendin' in with the crowd. I think he may've missed the point."

"Indeed," I looked around at the empty carriage, "Where d'ya think they are, anyway?"

"Beats me," Locke said, and hauled me, protesting, to my feet, "Why don't we go find 'em before you get too comfortable, eh?"

As it happened, Edgar was in the very next carriage. By a rather happy coincidence, this carriage appeared to be the place where royalty went to get drunk, as the first thing that caught my eye were the rows and rows of expensive liquors and decades-old spirits secured neatly in a large, glass-fronted mahogany cabinet. In my mind, I could hear the tiny voices of a thousand different alcohols begging to be sampled, and as I watched I swore some of it even began crawling up the sides of the bottles in anticipation of sweet release.

"Thirsty, Firma?" the king said, in tones of wry amusement, "Help yourself. Locke, could you tell the driver that we're ready to depart?"

For a moment I hesitated, but after some deliberation took down a small glass and grabbed the first interesting liquor that came to hand. It was an amber coloured liquid with name I couldn't even pronounce, but possessed a promising aroma of delicate spices, delivered with the force of a good solid kick in the teeth. This important task accomplished, I sat down beside the king, who appeared to be frowning over a faintly familiar notepad while taking frequent sips from a large wine glass balanced precariously on a nearby table.

"Tell me," he said eventually, "Does your sister normally annotate whatever she's reading?"

"I know she has a pathological aversion to bookmarks," I said evenly, "Every book I've ever lent her has come back a bloody dog-eared mess. Why, what's she done to your stuff?"

"She's..._improved_ it," Edgar bit out, and flipped the notepad over so that I could see. True to his word, the carefully drawn diagrams were covered in a mess of scribbles, redesigns, and phrases like 'rotate interference grid' or 'second bellows connect here' in Terra's neat, copperplate handwriting.

"These are improvements, are they?"

"_She_ seems to thinks so," the king flipped another page over; "I mean, look at this! She's _completely_ crossed out the power source to my noise blaster and just written 'needs Thaumium'! What in the world is Thaumium?"

"No idea, but it sounds jolly exciting," I shrugged, "Have you asked her?"

"By the time I'd seen this stuff, she'd already gone to get some sleep," Edgar replied, relenting slightly, "But still; how does she know _any_ of this? If it's a joke, I find it in incredibly bad taste!"

"I know she went through your library like a whirlwind," I said, "Maybe she found some of it there?"

"I'd doubt it," Edgar said, looking mournfully at his improved drawings.

"Well, Terra sometimes isn't _quite _tuned into Radio Earth, Edgar," I shrugged, "Anyway, that's a matter between you and her, wouldn't you say?"

The silence that followed was broken by the insistent, whistling toot of the train's horn. With a surprising turn of speed, the train accelerated out of the station and into the rolling, verdant hills of central Figaro. On both sides, the countryside was a blur of forests, fields, and rivers, and a sudden, sharp pang I realised how similar this was to Wareydon, as well as how much I missed it.

Once again there was the faint 'click' of a door, and Locke returned, carrying, for reasons that completely eluded me, a small, silvery toaster and a loaf of pre-sliced bread.

"Um...what's with the toaster?" I asked, reasonably.

"What?" Edgar stirred again, "Oh, thank you, Locke. A little while ago, I realised that this train was an ideal place for enemy intelligence agencies to place...devices of a clandestine nature."

"He means bugs," Locke translated.

"Anyway, _this_ device-" with this, Edgar indicated the aforementioned toaster, "-is quite possibly one of my finest pieces of work. It should be able to suppress any 'bugs' that might be present in this carriage. Nobody will be able to listen in to what we're saying."

"But it looks like a toaster!" I protested.

"It _was_ a toaster," Edgar said patiently, "That doesn't mean it can't also be used as a perfectly functional signal jammer."

For a long, long while I considered this particular comment from all possible angles, but eventually decided that a radio-jamming toaster was very, _very_ far down the list of the most absurd things I had encountered in recent history. That said, I still had one major point of curiosity.

"And the bread?"

"The only snag in an otherwise perfect design," Edgar said, rather smugly, "It only actually works if it's toasting something. Luckily-" he rallied, "-I realised that this allows us to accurately control the length of the information blackout via the browning knob!"

"But..." I scratched my head, "If you removed that, surely your information blackout would last forever, right?"

The king looked a little puzzled, "Yes, but then my toast would burn."

"Are you trying to mess with my head?" I asked incredulously, "Because quite frankly, you're succeeding! Why is this thing even necessary, anyway?"

Edgar looked at Locke, who obligingly inserted two slices of wholemeal into the toaster and pushed them down. Apparently satisfied with this state of affairs, the king steeped his fingers and leaned forwards across the table.

"I'll be honest with you, Firma," he said seriously, "Locke and I want to know a bit more about you and your sister. We've both read whatever information Ester-"

"-the incompetent bastard-" Locke cut in.

"-managed to glean about you, but...it's not enough," Edgar took a deep breath, "Today, I saw two teenagers successfully destroy a pair of weapons systems that are quite frankly the terror of my army. Not only that, but you also managed to save my life when all my carefully-planned defences did _nothing_ to stop Kefka's insanity."

"And...?" I leaned back and took a sip of my drink.

"It feels like I'm intruding on another world, Firma, and I don't much care for it. This is all new to us, and if we're going to need your help to have any real chance of understanding it."

The toaster popped up with a 'ching', sending two pieces of well-done bread high into the air. Locke carefully moved them to one side and reloaded the toaster, nodding at me when it was apparently safe to continue.

"Where do I start?" I asked honestly, "When I was a kid, I remember thinking it was really, _really_ odd that everyone else couldn't use magic. I mean, it's part of who I am, to the point where I literally can't live without it!"

"Do you have any knowledge of how you came to possess this power?" Edgar said, although he didn't seem all that hopeful.

"No," I shook my head, "As far as I know, I've always had it. 'Never knew my parents, either, so I couldn't tell you if it was genetic or anything."

"No other family members on file, either," Edgar mused, "Still, Branford is a fairly common surname in the Empire, so I suppose we can't rule it out entirely."

"'S a good idea," Locke snorted, "Or it would be if Firma an' his sister didn't share that surname with every third person in the Imperial army. It's a name given to orphans, Yer Majesty."

"Could be worse," I protested, "We could've been Clarksons or Weavers or...or..."

"I'm not sayin' it's a bad name, pal," Locke placated me, "It's just really common, is all."

"Regardless," Edgar continued, "It seems a little suspicious that the only two documented magic users in a thousand years should be orphans found by the Empire. What information we have is _extremely_ light on detail about the first two years of your lives."

"You could say that about most people's files," I pointed out, "I know that we're 'special' and all that, but maybe we didn't exhibit much magical potential at that age. Nobody's going to go back and invent an exciting back story just for our sakes, you know."

"It _is_ a mystery, though," he said, "Doubly so, considering that the discovery of Magitek appears to coincide with the first mention of Mage Knights. The first Magitek Knights didn't appear until almost a year later."

"Okay, so..."

"Don't you find it interesting that the Empire specifically differentiates between Mage Knights and Magitek Knights?" Edgar raised his eyebrows and leaned in, "If you look at the newspapers around the time, Kefka is touted as the first example of a human with magical abilities. If no human normally possesses these powers, then-"

"Edgar!" Locke snapped.

"No, it's okay," I smiled wryly, "It's nothing I haven't heard before. We even have a pool going about it back in Wareydon."

"What, about whether yer _human_ or not?"

"Sure," I said, "I mean, Edgar's right; I've never met anyone else who could cast magic without going through this infusion process, so who knows where Terra and I come from? Maybe we're extraterrestrials, or escaped experiments, or maybe we were even exposed to some kind of magical radiation _in utero_! It's all very exciting, don't you think?"

"What's yer opinion, then?"

"I don't think it matters," I said simply, "Go ask Terra if you want to get someone snarled up in an existential quandary."

"I understand," Edgar said, after a short silence, "In any case, I'm fairly sure that there's a link between you and your sister, that is to say the Mage Knights, and Magitek technology. Beyond the obvious, that is."

"Beyond magic?" I frowned, and noticed that Locke's had suddenly become poker-faced, "What do you mean?"

Edgar sat back, interlacing his fingers on his chest, "I'm curious, Firma; how much do you know about the recent events in Narshe? Do you know _why_ Terra and her handlers were sent there?"

"Is this one of those questions where you already know the answer, or are you just fishing for information?" I asked curiously, "Because if it's the latter; no, I don't know."

"Well, it's certainly a strange move by the Empire," Edgar said bluntly, "Three Titans are certainly a force to be reckoned with, but without a supply chain they'd eventually be whittled down and destroyed. Considering how much a Titan _costs_, that's not the sort of loss that any sane man would undertake lightly."

"You're forgetting Kefka, though," I said, "Remember; he buried a Golem under a sand dune just in case we happened to pass by!"

"The order to assault Narshe didn't come from Kefka, pal," Locke cut in, "It came from the very top."

"Oh, yes?" I raised my eyebrows, "And when did you find this one out?"

"Yesterday," he replied, a little smugly, "While you were coolin' your heels, some of us were doin' a bit of sleuthin', y'know."

"Okay, don't labour it," I said wearily, "I'm not sure that Gestahl is all that connected with reality either, y'know. Power does that to people."

"Indeed," Edgar gave me a longer look than was _strictly_ necessary, "Still, based on the order that Locke obtained, I think Gestahl was more _worried_ than insane. He was worried enough, certainly, to go to the effort of sending three enormous tanks to a small mining town on the other side of the planet."

"So what did they unearth in Narshe, then?" I caught Locke's expression, and added, "What? It's what miners do! You dig too greedily, or too deep, and _bam_, suddenly your mineshaft is filled with tentacles or giant spiders or you've woken up some ancient, sleeping demon. Quite frankly I'm amazed people're willing to take the risk."

"Whatever they found, it scared Gestahl," Edgar said, ignoring my sudden outburst, "Maybe rightfully so, as well. My theory is that he sent those Titans because he thought that maybe they had the firepower to destroy whatever it was that the Narshians had found."

"Keep in mind, we still haven't worked out what happened to those Titans," Locke pointed out.

"So, whatever's down there, it's tough," I raised my eyebrows and looked pointedly at Edgar, "What _is_ it?"

"We...aren't _entirely_ sure," Edgar confessed, "The order referred to it as an 'Esper', which is absurd. I suspect that it's some kind of codeword for a piece of Great War technology that could swing the balance of power back in our favour. Obviously, Gestahl would want to destroy it rather than see it fall into Figaran hands."

"Okay. Um, out of curiosity, why is it being an Esper absurd? What _is_ an Esper, exactly?"

Edgar and Locke both looked surprised at that, "Yer don't know what an Esper is, Firma?" Locke asked, "You were never taught about 'em in history or anything?"

"I didn't _exactly _have a classical education," I said irritably, "We didn't learn much about history, ancient or otherwise."

Locke looked faintly disgusted, but continued, "Well, me ma always used to say that Espers were great, magnificent creatures that existed back before the Great War, when the world was filled with magic."

"A magical time of fancy and whimsy?" I snorted, "Really?"

"Well, maybe the world was like that, pal."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't immediately bow before the Bedtime Stories of Mrs. Cole, Locke, but that sounds like just about every fantasy novel ever written."

Edgar coughed, "Regardless of where Locke's mother obtained her information, it is commonly said that there is a grain of truth to every legend. What's more, I _do_ have a couple of ancient documents in my possession that suggest that such beasts _did_ exist at some point, although it seems that they perished during the Great War."

"Did they talk?"

"By all accounts, they were supposed to be extremely intelligent. Why?"

"You remember that voice I heard in the mines, don't you Locke? Well, you thought I was having a fit, but-"

"Aye, I remember," Locke replied shortly, clearly offended by my opinion of his mother stories, "It got a wee bit exciting after that, though."

"It did," I agreed, "Especially with all those moogles _mysteriously_ springing to our defence. There is definitely something powerful down there, Edgar, but I don't think it's a piece of military hardware that someone's dug up," I took a deep breath, "It's sentient."

"You mean-"

"When Gestahl was referring to an 'Esper', he wasn't using it as a codeword. I reckon that that thing down there is quite possibly straight out of Mama Cole's stories."

"But that would mean that it's been down there almost a thousand years!" Edgar exclaimed, "How could it survive? What would it eat?"

"Maybe it hibernated," Locke suggested, "Think about it, Edgar. If it _were_ an Esper, then it'd be the greatest archaeological find of the century! It might even-"

"Let's...not get ahead of ourselves," Edgar said, calming himself down with a visible effort, "We need to get more information from Narshe about this entity before we know how to proceed, and that may take a little while."

"I'll get on it," Locke promised, "I'll have my sources send anything they discover on to our destination."

"Thank you, Locke," Edgar said, and turned to look at me, "Firma, when the voice spoke to you, did it seem...friendly?"

"More _surprised_, I'd say," I said, recalling the memory, "And then it rifled through my brain trying to work out who I was. That hurt."

"And-"

"Well, it didn't really want me to leave, but I'm not sure you could call that _friendly_, per se," I shrugged, "To be honest, I'm not sure."

"Would you be prepared to try and make contact again?"

"I'd have to think about it," I said, "And you'd have to get permission from the Father Superior. Sorry, Edgar, but impartiality is impartiality."

"You haven't been particularly impartial so far," Locke said, snidely.

"I've been defending myself and others," I replied tartly, "This is a direct request from a ruling sovereign on a non-medical matter. There're rules, y'know."

"What about Terra?" Edgar asked quickly.

"If you phrased it right, she'd probably leap at the chance to play hero," I said, warily, "But still, she's currently a signed up Sentinel and the same rules apply."

"Maybe not."

"Okay, Edgar, I'll be blunt," I said, coming to my feet, "Don't get me wrong, I know that I owe you for everything that you've done, for saving Terra's life, and for not handing us over to the Empire. That _doesn't_ mean that I'm going to stand by and idly let you manipulate her into doing your dirty work for you. You can suggest it to her, sure, but she's going to have to make up her _own_ mind, okay?"

"Of course, Firma," Edgar said, also standing up, "Do you _really_ think that I'm no better than the Empire?"

"I'd say that you'd be a pretty poor king if you _weren't_ prepared to play fast and loose if your kingdom was in danger. C'mon, you're on your way to a bloody terrorist hideout, so don't tell me you're completely above board!"

"Hang on a sec!" Locke snapped, "The Returners aren't terrorists! We're freedom fighters!"

"Semantic nonsense!"

"There's a _huge_ difference!"

"And I'm sure that it's a huge comfort to all the people who've been blown to bits by your little freedom bombs, mate! You're not the one who had to bloody well clean up the mess afterwards, _were_ you?" I took a long, deep breath, "Okay, that was too far. You didn't deserve that, and I'm sorry; it's...well, you know it's been a pretty brutal couple of weeks."

"Yeah," Locke said grudgingly, and briefly shook my hand, "It's okay, pal."

"Anyway," I said, "My original point still stands. Terra has to draw her own conclusions."

"I understand your position, Firma," Edgar said, with a certain amount of relief, "And I understand why you might have a rather...twisted view of the ruling class, considering what the Empire's done to you and your sister. Rest assured, I have no intention of telling her anything but the truth."

"Spoken like a true politician, but I'll take what I can get."

"The fact remains, Firma," Edgar continued seriously, "That this entity in Narshe, be it an Esper or otherwise, may hold the key to defeating the Empire's Magitek weaponry. Considering the likelihood that the Empire is keeping secrets about you and your sister, it is entirely possible that this Esper may reveal elements about yourself that you would prefer left buried. Are you up to that, Firma? Is your sister?"

"At the moment..." I paused, and decided to be frank with them, "I'm not sure."


	26. Chapter 7: Silence in Figaro: Part One

**Chapter 7 – Silence in Figaro, Part One**

You know what? Recounting that last conversation made me realise that if the Emperor had been even a _little_ bit savvier about the events in Narshe, events (at least from my perspective) may well have unfolded in a very different matter.

Think about it; for the first eighteen years of my life, I lived and breathed the life of an Imperial serviceman. My friends were my fellow cadets, my teachers were Imperial officers, and any news of the outside world typically came through the carefully filtered bulletins of the Imperial Broadcasting Centre. To be frank, both Terra and I were loyal soldiers and reasonably happy with our lot, and while _seeing_ the Imperial brutality at Maranda may have shaken our faith in the Empire a little, if it had just been a single, independent event I'm sure we would've simply rationalised it as 'a few rotten apples' and moved on with our lives.

That wasn't the case, of course, because then there was Narshe. To be more accurate, there was the Emperor's rather frantic, ill-thought-out response to the discovery at Narshe. If Kefka hadn't acted as he had, I probably would never have even _heard_ of the damnable place, and when the eventual international conflict broke out I would've quite happily sallied forth to do my duty as a Sentinel and an Imperial serviceman. With the Mage Knights firmly in the grip of Imperial propaganda, Figaro may not have been able to develop an effective countermeasure to Magitek technology, and I may even have lived to see Edgar deposed and Gestahl come to rule the entire world, or at least those bits that were worth taxing.

Surprisingly, my fiancée actually agrees with this theory, although this is probably because she's a sore loser and reckons we won only because she was surrounded by incompetents. In her opinion, Gestahl was a weak, arrogant man who was surrounded by idiots and lived in constant fear of losing his grip on power. When the Esper came around, he panicked and green lit the first plan that seemed like it might make the problem go away. Unfortunately (or possibly fortunately, depending on your point of view), the author of that crazy, sadistic plan happened to be Kefka, which in turn...well, you know the rest.

Anyway, that's all hypothetical and by-the-by, but it's interesting to wonder how different my life would've been if Gestahl had maybe taken the news of the discovery a little bit more philosophically.

Still; enough navel gazing! Let's continue talking about things that actually happened!

I was tired. I was tired of talking, of preventing regicide, and I most _definitely_ tired of participating in giant robot deathmatches. To be honest, however, what I was most tired of were _people_. For the past few days it felt like I'd been doing nothing but dancing for the benefit of everyone else, and at this point the thought of engaging someone in _another_ pointless conversation about stuff I knew _nothing_ about was starting to grate more than the stench of badly burned bread. I needed some alone time. I needed to sleep, and have a shower, and try and process the chaotic combination of crazy jester generals and burrowing castles and, well, everything! It was all far, _far_ too much for me to deal with, especially while I was weathering a constant barrage of questions from this king and his pet freedom fighter.

With that realisation, I rather curtly excused myself and went in search of some form of bedding, or failing that some nice, concealed corner where nobody would come and start talking at me. This train had a bar that had the capacity for a full-scale party; surely it had somewhere to go lie down. Considering the rumours I had heard about Edgar's nocturnal activities, I figured it was practically guaranteed.

Thankfully, I was not disappointed. After passing through a nicely-appointed dining car, I found a number of large rooms that on closer inspection appeared to be cabins. While a little more scouting located the royal bedroom, the gurgling and snoring coming from within suggested that it had already been bagsied by my sister. A little irritated by this development, I went to go and find a bed to call my own. A shower and a good, long snooze would do wonders for both my nerves and my mood...

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I slept poorly, tossing and turning through a variety of nightmares that were a garbled, tortured mess of recent events. Before my eyes, Kefka shrieked and howled with laughter, and then exploded into a mass of shadows and fangs that chased me, relentlessly, down an endless castle passageway that slowly filled with sand as it sank deeper into the ground. I struggled onward against the rising sands, wading laboriously as the fine grains hissed around my feet, ever aware of the icy breath of my inescapable pursuer.

Suddenly, my boot caught on something hidden under the sand and I fell painfully onto the shifting surface. From behind, I heard a roar of triumph, and turned to see the monster surge forwards across the sands, reaching out towards me with its wickedly curved pitch black talons. Almost sobbing with panic, I tugged desperately at my caught boot only to find itself stuck fast, and finally found my voice in a terrified scream as one of the enormous claws descended towards me...

_'...wait...'_

The claw stopped, and retracted. For a long moment I stared stupidly at the creature, my mind too paralyzed by fear to fully comprehend what was happening.

_'...this one is mine...'_

Beside me, the silhouette of a black, Imperial boot touched down soundlessly on the sand, and I looked up to see the small, shadowy figure of Elli staring down at me with malicious intent gleaming in her black eyes.

_'...it appears I find you in a bit of a bind, Firmi...'_

I tried to reply, but found my tongue too fat and unresponsive to be in the slightest bit coherent. Eventually, I managed to force out something like 'gnuh?'.

_'...you must choose, Firmi...'_ the phantom pressed, _'...either you can have the power to destroy this devil, or you shall be destroyed _by_ this devil...'_

As if to drive the point home, the monster's mouth split open revealing an intense, actinic light. Despite my fear, a small, rather cynical part of my brain took the time to wonder at its similarity to the recently-destroyed Golems' laser crystal.

_'...your fears stay their hand only because of my actions, Firmi...'_ Elli said, a cruel smile coming to her lips, _'...if you do not accept my deal, then I see no reason to continue protecting you...'_

It was stupid. I _knew_ it was stupid, even through the mists of fear-induced insensibility. However, I was also honest enough to know that I was, quite simply, not brave enough to die. I reached for Elli, my pleading fingers searching for the only way out of this twisted situation.

_'...Firma...'_

"Firma!"

-and then, suddenly, I was being shaken awake aboard a speeding train. For a moment the world was a blaze of colours which slowly resolved itself into the interior of the cabin I had claimed as my own. My sister was kneeling beside the bed, an expression of intense concern lining her face.

"Whuzzat?" I said blearily, and tried to sit up. Stars sparkled gently in my vision as blood rushed back to my brain.

"Are you okay?" Terra said urgently, "Were you having a nightmare?"

"Hnuh?" I replied, rubbing at my eyes, "Wha? Oh, yeah, it was insane. Bloody thing tried to eat me..."

"Well, that would explain the scream."

"You heard me scream?"

"I think they probably heard it in Katastari," Terra smiled, ever so slightly, "I thought you were being attacked!"

"Well, sort've," I said, and shuddered, "It was unpleasant."

"It was just a dream," she said reassuringly.

"I suppose," I said, and squinted suspiciously at her, "Hold on; you're wearing that dress again. Where's your Sentinel uniform?"

"I-well...um...that is..." Terra visibly braced herself, "My Sentinel uniform was covered in sand and blood and soot and, um, well, I thought that it'd be _more_ obvious if I turned up in South Figaro looking like I'd just come from a warzone and this train doesn't have anywhere to do laundry and, um, um-"

"Relax, Tee, I'm not being serious," I smiled wryly, "You can wear whatever you damn well please."

"But-"

"I shouldn't have yelled at you this morning, Tee," I continued, "I know we were all scared about Kefka and his crazy schemes, but that's no excuse for how I acted. I'm...sorry."

"My word, that nightmare must have _really_ unsettled you!" Terra laughed, but I could see the tension draining out of her shoulders, "Are you _sure _you're feeling okay?"

"About as good as I can be, given the circumstances," I said, "It's been a proper mad couple of weeks."

"Well, you know you can tell me anything, right?" she said, and patted me gently on the shoulder, "It's not healthy to bottle things up inside you."

"So I hear."

"Yes," there was a rather awkward pause, and then, "So...what were you guys talking about earlier? I heard raised voices."

"What, from your cabin? That's pretty-" I stopped, having caught the faintest hint of reddening on Terra's cheeks, "Hold on...were you eavesdropping?"

"Well-" the blush deepened.

"_You_? My law-abiding, goody-two-shoes twin sister? This _is_ a new development."

"Would you stop that?" she snapped irritably, "I swear, if you don't tell me what you were talking about I'm going to have to punch you."

"Oh, nothing much," I said nonchalantly, "Well, there was something about how you were sent to Narshe on the orders of the Emperor himself and that that thing you were meant to find may be some kind of ancient magical entity from some war I've never heard of..." I took a deep breath, "...and basically they want us to see if we can talk to one of Locke's mum's bedtime stories to see if it can save the civilised world from the wrath of a insane clown and his equally insane posse."

"Is that all?"

"There was a short flare up regarding the relative merits of terrorists versus freedom fighters, but that was about it," I shrugged, "You really should've joined in."

"Well...I was tired," Terra waved it aside, "So, do they want us to go back to Narshe?"

"To be honest? I don't think they really know _what_ they want to do," I said bluntly, "Trouble is, they know that if they don't do anything then we'll be hip deep in Titan tanks before the months out."

"So...what do _we_ do, then?"

"For now? Follow Locke and try not to get fricasseed by Imperial Intelligence," I said, "We don't gain anything by running off on our own, certainly."

"I suppose not, no."

"Just...be careful around Edgar, Tee," I added seriously, "I don't know how good a _ruler _he is, but he clearly loves his country and he's just as clearly desperate for a solution. The time may come when he asks you to do something...risky."

"Like, um, talk to that thing in Narshe?" she said, and suddenly looked worried, "You'll be there, though, won't you?"

"Well, uh, maybe," I replied, in possibly the world's worst attempt at reassurance, "The point is, yes, Edgar's done a lot for us, but that doesn't mean he can demand that you sacrifice yourself for his country. Don't let him manipulate you into doing something that you don't think is right, okay?"

"But..." my sister, perhaps unsurprisingly, wasn't convinced, "How will I know what _is_ right?"

"I'm, um, I'm not sure," I admitted, "But I'm sure you'll have great fun figuring it out, though!"

"Thanks, Firma," she said acidly, "Has anyone ever told you that you can be totally, bloody _useless_ at times?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

"You, for starters."

"That doesn't surprise me in the slightest."

"Probably not," I said, and stretched luxuriously, "In any case, I'm not going to get any more sleep. How long 'till we get to South Figaro?"

"We're almost there, actually," Terra said, "I was just coming to wake you up when I heard you yell."

"Really?" I said, surprised, "But...I thought it was an overnight trip! I can't have been asleep that long!"

"Good afternoon, Firma," Terra said, with a mocking little smile, "Locke and Edgar wanted to wake you earlier, but I thought you needed the rest. I...don't think they really understand how tiring magic can be."

"Me either, apparently," I said, and took a slightly disbelieving look out of the window. True to Terra's word, the rolling, verdant landscape had been replaced with the more arid scrublands of South Figaro, "My word."

"'Guess you needed it!" Terra said, and scrambled to her feet, "Anyway, I've asked Locke to make you some toast before I came to get you, so I reckon he's probably just about gotten around to it."

"Really?" suddenly, I realised just _how_ hungry I was, "Thanks, Tee."

"No problem," she said, as she turned to leave, "No going back to sleep, you hear? It's time to get up and get moving!"

Thankfully, the door closed on my biting retort.

Edgar's gilded horror of a train rolled into South Figaro about an hour later. Fortunately, Edgar and Locke had been hard at work while we were asleep, and had managed to cobble together some semblance of a plan to get us out of South Figaro with our lives and dignity intact. Unfortunately, it had to be said that it wasn't a particularly _good_ plan, and it rather seemed to me that the only way we would be able to keep our respective limbs was if the entirety of Imperial Intelligence had accidentally lobotomised themselves at some point over the last week. Thankfully, however, the short walk between South Figaro's train station and the brilliant white walls of the town itself gave me a chance to air my grievances with the one person who actually seemed to _understand_ my fears.

"Look, pal," Locke was saying, struggling to be heard over the constant traffic, "You an' I both know that Imperial Intelligence are going to be watchin' South Figaro like hawks. There's absolutely no way that we're going to be able to get in, get what we need, and get out again without _someone_ seein' us. Our best hope is to be gone before they can get together a team big enough to be a threat."

"They could just _hire_ people," I pointed out.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Locke said, "After Kefka's little paddy in Figaro Castle, nobody's going to want to be seen interactin' with those blasted Vectorans. There's shifty bastards in South Figaro, true enough, but most of 'em are patriotic and they know how to make life really, _really_ interestin' for those who ain't."

"Really?"

"Oh, aye," Locke looked off into the middle distance, apparently lost in a memory, "_Really_ interestin'..."

"So...Terra and I'll hit the Sentinel aid station for supplies, grab some provisions, and meet you guys this evening at the...Royal, was it?"

"Aye," Locke nodded, "If yer can, try and talk to as few people as possible. I'd reckon that most people aren't too happy wit' the Empire right now, an' with that accent of yours...well, they might get a touch irritable. Even _more_ irritable than the last time you were here, if you get my drift."

"Maybe you should come with me, then."

"An' leave yer sister and His Royal Highness together?" Locke glanced at the two up ahead and snorted, "Yeah, right. They may be smart, and they may be brave, but they're about as subtle as a half-brick to the face an' they both have the self-preservation of a particul'y suicidal lemming. Yer may as well send up a flare."

I had to admit that, yes, he had a point, "I'll try to keep my mouth shut, then."

"Aye, it could probably do with the rest."

The white-walled buildings of South Figaro shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun, and I could feel the heat rising from the cobblestones even through the thick soles of my walking boots. Thankfully, however, there was a cooling breeze coming off the sea, which managed to turn an otherwise intolerably hot day into a merely unpleasant one. Despite the heat, however, there were still a few Figarans out and about, although the streets were definitely more deserted than before and what few vendors remained seemed to be hawking their wares in a rather dispirited fashion to the occasional passer-by.

There was definitely something different about the city. Whereas South Figaro had seemed like a vibrant and lively city, the atmosphere was now tense and oppressive. Compared to before, it was almost silent; only the occasional cry from a trader broke the otherwise deadly quiet. Previously open shops were closed and shutters barred, and everywhere there were signs saying that the owners were on holiday or otherwise indisposed.

It felt, if I were being honest, like the entire city knew that it was living on borrowed time.

"Odd," Locke summed up my thoughts perfectly, "It's a bit quiet, doncha think?"

"Is it perhaps 'too quiet'?" Terra said, almost hopefully.

"Nah. You'll know when it's 'too quiet', cause it'll be jus' before an assassin leaps out and guts yer with a billhook," the thief looked around again, and shook his head disgustedly, "I reckon people're probably keepin' their heads down safe indoors. Uncooperative bastards."

I knew what he meant. As a group, we contained a rather scruffy-looking Kohlinglese bloke, a Sentinel, a young woman in a bright red dress, and a gentleman who was trying and totally failing to not look like the sovereign. While we probably could've hidden ourselves within the brightly coloured crowds of a normal Figaran day out, on these relatively clear streets we stuck out like a sore thumb. I definitely began to feel an uncomfortable itch somewhere between my shoulder blades.

"Alright, we may as well do what we came here to do," Locke said, and nodded at Terra and myself, "Go grab your gear, and we'll see you at the rendezvous point in a couple hours, okay?"

"Okay," I said tersely, "C'mon, Tee, let's go and get ourselves kitted up, shall we?"

"...okay," my sister said, eventually, "You know, after what you said about this place I thought it'd be...well, more relaxed."

"It's a little creepy, isn't it?" I said.

"Feels a bit like Katastari," Terra agreed, and shivered despite the heat, "I suppose that they've heard about Figaro Castle."

"Mmm," I said, and decided to change the subject, "Anyway! At least this time I know where the bloody Sentinel aid station is. Couldn't find the damn thing for love nor money last time..."

We proceeded slowly down the street, passing empty tavernas and silent restaurants on our way to the seafront. Despite the hairs prickling on the back of my neck, I was attempting to perfect a walk of total nonchalance whilst simultaneously looking every which way at once. To an onlooker, it probably looked like I had a particularly severe nervous tic, but at least I'd know if someone was attempting to sneak up on us.

"Say..." Terra began, as if broaching a subject of intense sensitivity, "Have you, uh, considered, er, our...um..."

"That's a pretty uncomfortable sentence, Tee," I said, "Could you finish it quickly, please?"

"...our...backstories? Locke said 'Listen, lass, if yer wanna have a foolproof disguise, then yer gotta have a backstory, aye?'"

My eyebrow went up, "That was... a remarkably good impression."

"Thanks," Terra cocked her head, "I'm pretty sure he's just trying to stop me from thinking about Imperial Intelligence and their...oh, what did he-"

"-billhooks-"

"Yeah, those. Still, it sounds like fun! Anyway, I told Edgar and he now wants to be called 'Gerad' until we're out of South Figaro. Just so you know."

"Gerad."

"Mm-hmm."

"Like, an anagram of 'Edgar'."

"I believe so, yes."

"My word," I said, "What a _foolproof_ plan."

"I know. Isn't it a good idea?"

"You're agreeing with me to annoy me, aren't you," I said looking at her suspiciously.

Terra's lips quirked, ever so slightly, "Well, I thought about it, and I came up with new names for us, too! How do- wow, what a _view_!"

We had reached the sea, and paused for a moment to drink in the tranquil scene. Like the rest of the town, the sea was almost completely devoid of human activity, with only a couple of boats bobbing up and down out in the bay. Given the number of empty harbours, I guessed that some of the owners had decided to try their luck somewhere further down the coast.

"Do you...think there'll be a war?" Terra was clearly thinking along similar lines as me.

"I think there already _is_ a war, Tee," I pointed out as gently as I could, "You don't casually take pot-shots at the sovereign of another country, y'know."

"But maybe...maybe..." my sister kicked out at a nearby balustrade and shouted, "Oh, this is all so _stupid_! _Why_ is the Empire doing this? All these people...for _what_, exactly?"

I shrugged silently in reply. From past experience, I knew that it was best just to listen quietly while she worked through her frustrations.

"This isn't right, Firma," she continued, "This isn't right at _all_. Maybe we _should_ talk to that thing, if it means everyone here can get back to their lives...maybe...I...ugh!"

"Baby steps, Tee," I said, eventually, "Let's start with what we can do before we think about challenging the entire Empire. C'mon, the Sentinel aid station is just over there, see?" I pointed down the street to a small, unremarkable building that stood slightly apart from the rest, with a small black-and-silver flag that was flapping rather disconsolately in the gentle wind. A Sentinel was loitering in the shade outside, apparently enjoying a cigarette with a young woman who, either through bad luck or total lack of taste, was wearing very similar clothes to Terra.

"Fine," Terra said moodily, but then squinted with sudden interest, "Hey, is that girl wearing my dress?"

Suddenly, the world exploded. I was dimly aware of tremendous heat and noise and then a sensation of flying, followed a moment later by a blow that drove the air from my lungs. When my senses returned I found myself lying in a crumpled heap on the cobblestones, staring up at a sky that was now filled with smoke and flaming masonry. As I staggered uncertainly to my feet, a large, glowing rock crashed to the ground nearby, peppering me with shards of red-hot ceramics. All around me there was flame and smoke from the descending wreckage, making it impossible to see more than a couple of meters in any direction.

"Terra!" I cried desperately, struggling to be heard above the sounds of collapsing scenery and the ringing in my ears, "Terra! Where are you?"

In the dreadful silence that followed, a pair of smoking grey Sentinel boots fell out of the sky and landed perfectly side by side in front of me. The smoke shifted slightly in the middle distance, and parted to reveal the slightly dazed but mercifully unharmed figure of my sister.

"Are you okay?" Terra screamed, "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"I...I..." I pointed at the boots, still standing to perfect attention, "I think somebody's bombed the aid station!"

"Why would they do that? I thought you said the Sentinels were neutral!"

"They are!" inwardly, I had my own suspicions, but there were more important things right now, "Come on! We have to help!"

Between us, it took only a small amount of magic to get the smoke to disperse. What it revealed, however, made pretty poor viewing; the Sentinel aid station had been reduced to a large pile of burning rubble, along with the shops on either side. Elsewhere, windows had been blown inward and enormous cracks criss-crossed buildings all along the seafront.

"Bloody hell," Terra said, quietly, surveying the destruction with a faintly awed look on her face, "If we'd been any closer..."

Despite the destruction, the scene was curiously quiet. The only sounds I could hear were the tinkle of falling masonry and the unpleasant crackle of the flames. Any moment now, however, people were going to come running to see what all the noise was about, and_ then_ all hell was going to break loose.

"C'mon," I said shortly, "There may still be some survivors."

"After _that_? But-" Terra's objection died on deaf ears as I stepped quickly across the rubble and glass towards the aid station. I had to admit that my sister was probably right; anyone who had been caught in that blast was probably beyond help, but I had to at least _try_...

Searching desperately, I spotted the head of a man poking out from underneath some rubble. The face was too badly burned to be identifiable, and any hopes of resuscitation were crushed when, a few moments later, I came across the rest of his charred corpse draped almost casually across a pile, cut to ribbons by razor sharp shards of glass.

There was a terrible grinding noise from a blazing house nearby, followed by the all-too-familiar sounds of destruction as it collapsed inwards, driving another cloud of smoke and dust out over the scene. With a sigh and a short prayer to Callista, I stepped over the dismembered body and continued my search.

It was Terra, in the end, who found a survivor. Following the yells, I found my sister standing anxiously over another battered body, this one a woman, covered in terrible burns and deep cuts from flying glass. It was clear that she was in terrible pain and probably only minutes from death.

"Can you do anything for her?" Terra said quietly, "I'm not sure, but I...think she was that girl who was wearing my dress."

My personal thoughts on the matter were that, traditionally, a person needed more actual _skin_ to be positively identified, but I decided to keep that dark little comment to myself. Quickly, I knelt down beside her and gently laid my hands on the least burned area I could find. The skin felt hot and slick under my hands, and the poor woman whimpered at my touch.

"Tee," I said absently, as the full extent of the victim's injuries filled my mind, "Could you go and see if you can find some morphine? The drug safe may still be intact."

"Of course. I'll be right back," Terra said, and then I heard the crunch of her boots on the broken stone as she set off towards the still-burning aid station. The morphine would help, of course, but these injuries were too severe for me to do anything other than try to ease her passing. Carefully, I began to probe her nervous system with small pulses of electricity, looking to interrupt the synapses that were blazing white-hot pain across the grid. I managed to get one locked down, and felt her relax almost imperceptibly under my hands. Encouraged by this, I began to seek large nervous clusters, aiming to deaden her pain as much as possible before the end...

It was an exhausting, mentally draining task. While I had been given plenty of opportunities to practice my magic during my training, I had never tried my skills out on someone on the verge of death. Even as I worked, I could feel her broken organs enter their death throes, each crying for my attention before finally giving up and fading from my mind. Her breathing became laboured and erratic; her burned airways were now no longer delivering enough oxygen to keep her heart pumping...and then, finally, I felt a storm of activity in her barely conscious mind as the brain began collapsing in on itself. There was a fleeting sensation of something strange and oddly intangible streaming past me, and then, with a shuddering sigh, she relaxed and died.

The real world slowly came back into focus, and I became aware of the distant sound of approaching sirens. There were people now, too. Some of them were standing uncertainly in groups of twos or threes; others dug furiously through the wreckage using their hands or whatever else they could lay their hands on. Numbly, I leaned forward and closed the unseeing eyes of the girl, muttering a short prayer to Callista as I did so.

"I found some!" Terra's breathless cry caught my attention, and a moment later she was by my side, brandishing a syrette of morphine with a determined look on her face, "I...I..."

Her expression faded as she took in the scene in front of her, and she added in a small, defeated voice, "I'm too late, aren't I."

"It's not your fault, Tee," I said quickly, as tears began to well up in her eyes. To be frank, I felt like crying myself, "There wasn't anything we could do. There wasn't anything _anyone_ could do."

For a long while we stood there while others picked over the piles of stones.

"This _was_ the work of Imperial Intelligence, wasn't it," Terra said grimly, "While I was looking for _this_ little thing-" she waved the syrette for emphasis, "-I smelt something that made me think 'high explosive'. Call it a hunch, if you want."

"I believe you."

"This isn't right," she went on, dashing her tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, "Fighting Golems in the desert? Terrifying, sure, but at least there wasn't anyone around to end up as collateral. She-" she nodded at the corpse in front of her, "-was just having a cigarette and gets blown to bits! How dare they? _How dare they?_ If they want to pick a fight with us, why don't they just come to us instead of hiding bombs in clinics?"

"Because you'd unceremoniously cremate them?"  
"Well, yes, but at least it'd be _fair_!"

The sirens were getting quite close now, "Maybe...maybe we should go, Tee."

Terra gave me a sympathetic look, "Do you want to wait for the emergency services, Firma? Would that make you feel better?"

To be honest, I really, _really_ did. While there was a fairly limited amount that we and the industrious diggers around us could do, if our magical abilities were combined with a full team of fully-equipped Sentinels maybe nobody else would have to die. On the other hand, that would mean sitting around for an extended period of time in one place, possibly inviting further attack from Imperial Intelligence on us and innocent bystanders. Besides, we had an appointment to keep.

"I...well..." I said, torn between the two possibilities, "I want to, but...the only way we're going to stop any further attacks like this is by stopping the Empire in its tracks. We...can't afford to get bogged down by the details. It's a really horrible thing to say, but-"

"It's okay. You've done your bit for now," Terra said, and clasped her hand on my shoulder, "We'll catch the bastards who did this, don't worry."

A ragged cheer went up from a nearby house, where a man was being gently removed from the rubble with a makeshift stretcher. While he was definitely bloodied, he was also clearly alive and, from the looks of things, likely to stay that way.

"Here you go," my sister said, and pressed the syrette into my hand, "Go and have a victory, at least. We've got time."

Honestly? I can't really tell you how grateful I am to Terra for that. As some of you may know (specifically, any Sentinels reading this), it's a bit of a flaw in our training program that we don't _really_ expose Trainee Sentinels to patients who are literally at death's door until the last possible moment. Due to the high-stress, macabre environment that most of us poor underpaid idiots work in, there's a strange coming-of-age ritual where a newly-minted Sentinel isn't really considered a 'real' Sentinel until they've had a patient die on them. Despite that, it's still a relatively intimate event (normally between said Sentinel and a handy mentor) and recording it here seems more unnerving than any other detail I've mentioned to date.

I do, of course, fully expect my favourite right-wing newspaper to run the headline 'Sentinel Hazing Bizarre Death Cult' just before complaints of immigrants defacing the countryside, the deadly link between photocopiers and cancer, and further whinging about the capital gains tax increase. On the other hand, I did promise to be as honest as possible, even if that means including things that I'd rather not. I hope you appreciate that.

After the death of that poor woman, the relieved smiles on the faces of the bystanders and the injured man did a lot to lift my spirits. Immediately, they formed a small ring around us, and stood looking on with the look of people who really wanted to help, but who had no real idea how to actually go about it.

The elderly gentleman had been lucky. Through a series of gestures and (on my part, at least) broken Figaran, I managed to work out that he had taken cover in his wardrobe when the blast hit and had hidden there while the roof caved in. For my part, I reassured him that no, he wasn't going to die, and yes, better-equipped Sentinels were soon going to be on the scene. This seemed to satisfy him and so I quickly administered the syrette, adding to it a small burst of magic to aid his recovery.

"You," I grabbed the most-alert looking man in my crowd of onlookers, and handed him the now-empty syrette, "Take this. Tell the Sentinels I gave it to him, okay?"

"You're not staying?"

"I...I..._oh, bugger, what's the correct word_...can't," I finished lamely, my rather limited Figaran unable to fully convey the urgency of the situation, "Tell them, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, I pushed quickly back out through the crowd and made my way over to Terra, who seemed to be staring off into the middle distance with a look of some concern on her face.

"Tee, we'd better go," I said quietly, "I've just told that crowd over there that I can't stick around, so they may lynch me if all I do is stand over here."

"Umm...sure," Terra said eventually, "I...there was a man in that alleyway over there."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure he was watching me, but he vanished when you arrived," she shivered, "I think he _wanted_ me to see him."

"Really?" I gave her a sharp look, "Are you certain?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Should we go and check it out?"

I took a look at the alleyway in question. It was pretty unremarkable, as alleys went, but something about it made my skin crawl and my hackles rise. Certain death lurked somewhere in that alleyway, of that I was certain.

"No," I said firmly, "You know how you were looking for something that was 'too quiet'?"

"Billhooks?"

"Worse, probably."

"I felt something odd about him, too," Terra added, "You know..._magic_ odd."

"Well, that settles it," I said, "The last time I felt someone who was _that_ kind of odd, they tried to neutralise my magic with some kind of grenade. Nearly succeeded, too."

"Yeah, you told me about that," Terra said distantly, "What do we do, then?"

"Nothing," I said. The sirens were very close now, "Look, we'd better go. We've got better things to do than be stabbed to death in an alleyway. I think we can probably get some basic medical supplies at the general store, anyway."

"It'll have to do, I suppose," Terra turned away, and missed the subtle, but chilling glint of steel from one of the darker shadows in the alley, "Do you think that he was from Imperial Intelligence?"

"I'm not sure," I said, finally, "It's likely, though."

"Do you think they bombed the aid station?"

"Maybe, but I'm pretty sure we'll have the opportunity to ask them at some point, Tee," I looked over my shoulder towards the dark, deadly alleyway, "In fact, I'm absolutely certain."


	27. Chapter 8: Silence in Figaro: Part Two

**Chapter 8: Silence in Figaro, Part Two**

If I was being frank with myself, I was more than a little scared. More than that, however, I was _puzzled_. No matter how I tried to twist and turn it in my head, I couldn't really see any way that the bombing of the Sentinel aid station was actually intended to assassinate Terra and I. While it was a little narcissistic (not to mention paranoid) to assume that we would be the subjects of any given attack, after recent events I had to admit that it wasn't _entirely_ impossible. In this case, however, it just didn't fit.

A triggered charge was definitely out, as far as I was concerned. Okay, fine, there had been a woman who had been wearing a similar dress to my sister, but I was _pretty_ certain that Imperial Intelligence weren't about to mistake a Figaran girl for a Mage Knight who had the complexion of something that had been living down a mine for the past two decades, even if they _did_ share the same godsawful fashion sense. If one discounted mistaken identity for the premature explosion, there was nothing left; there was no way to my mind that Imperial Intelligence would employ someone incompetent enough to blow the place without at _least_ confirming that we were inside.

Maybe it was a timed charge? If it _was_ directed at us, then maybe they were intending on just making a statement or denying us medical supplies. If it _wasn't_, then maybe the Empire wanted to just terrorise the local population and we'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. On the other hand, maybe it was _nothing_ to do with Imperial Intelligence. I knew that there were plenty of groups that had a bone to pick with the Empire, and I was sure that it was also the case up here. As much as Locke claimed to the contrary, it only took one Imperial sympathiser with a basic knowledge of chemistry and enough of an axe to grind to make a makeshift bomb; maybe they'd decided to start waging their own private war against the Kingdom...

No. As much as I wanted to believe that it wasn'tImperial Intelligence, there was still the case of Terra's magic man and his alleyway of hidden steel. The fact she could sense him meant Magitechnology, which meant the Empire, and considering how rare that stuff was it was a fair bet that the man holding it wasn't part of the rank and file. Could it have been a trap? Imperial Intelligence certainly knew a lot about us, and they'd be able to make a reasonable guess at how we'd react to an attack like that. It would certainly make an effective lure. Maybe...maybe their plan was to blow the aid station and then make a strike when we arrived. The fact that we'd been there so early may have thrown off their timing, and I knew enough about Imperial Intelligence to know that they'd only attack if they were completely sure of success. Still, even _that _was-

"Penny for your thoughts?" Terra broke into my reverie, "Are you thinking about the bomb?"

"Mmm."

"You know, you did everything you could for that girl," she said, apparently misinterpreting my silence, "You really did."

"What? Oh, no, I wasn't thinking about her," I shook my head, "I...well, I don't think that bomb was meant for us, actually."

"Really?" this statement was given due consideration, then, "What were they aiming at, then, if not us?"

"I have some ideas," I said shortly, "I want to talk to Locke, though. He's got connections, apparently, so maybe he'll be able to find out more about what's going on."

Terra's eyebrows jumped slightly at the word 'connections', but she apparently decided to leave it be. We walked in silence down one of South Figaro's many broad, cobbled roads, alert for any signs that might signal a visit from our good friends from the Empire. It wasn't like we would be particularly difficult to find, either; judging from the puzzled gazes of passersby, I was sure that the number of green-haired individuals covered in dust and smelling of smoke in South Figaro was fairly limited.

"Let's get these provisions and go find a change of clothes," Terra, apparently, agreed with my assessment, "I feel like a bloody chimney sweep."

"Seconded," I said, and glared at a particularly inquisitive Figaran, "We're attracting far too much attention."

"On the bright side, that strange man isn't following us," my sister smiled tightly, "Maybe he got bored and wandered off."

"Imperial Intelligence doesn't rush into things, Tee. I'm sure they'll be back, but only once they've got a plan that they're really sure will work."

"How annoying," she commented, "I suppose it was too much to hope for them to be stupid or reckless."

"People who're stupid or reckless don't last long in _that_ particular agency."

"Yeah, you've said," Terra said, before adding, "So which were you?"

"Pardon?"

"Were you stupid or reckless?" maybe it was the light, but there was a distinctly mischievous glint in her eye, "I mean, you said you didn't last long, _and-_"

"Yes, yes," I rolled my eyes, "Well, if you _must_ know, I was both."

"Oh, my. Spectacular, was it?"

"You...could say that."

There was a pause, then, "Well, are you going to tell me about it, or am I going to have to guess?"

"Give it your best shot."

"Hmm..." Terra thought about this for a moment, before adding, "Was money involved?"

"No."

"Drugs, then? Women? Some kind of femme fatale, maybe."

"_No_."

"Aliens?"

"Not the extraterrestrial kind."

"So a Figaran citizen?"

"There're more countries than just Figaro and 'The Empire', you know."

"Jidooran?"

"No."

"Domanian? Kohlinglese?"

"You know, when I suggested that you guess I wasn't _actually_ being serious."

"Why don't you just tell me, then?" she pressed, "I can do this all day, you know."

"I know you can," I sighed.

"My file says I'm a very patient person."

"It's not wrong."

There was another pause, and then, "Tzenian?"

"No..."

I think we'll leave that particular event for now, if only because there is _seriously_ limited entertainment value in listening to someone attempting to brute force the truth by naming every nationality on the planet. The smarter ones amongst you have probably worked out at _least_ some of the circumstances surrounding my impressive departure from the intelligence services. The rest of you? Sit tight, we'll be coming to that story in short order.

Locke's much-vaunted general store was a small, dusty shop so unremarkable that we walked by it several times before finally seeing it for what it was. Inside, it was dark and cool, and smelt strongly of old books and rusting metal. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I got the feeling that this store sold just about everything under the sun; the walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with goods ranging from foodstuffs to climbing gear and from horrible, chintzy ornamentation to firearms, including an impressive, if ancient, brass-barrelled blunderbuss that hung prominently above the till.

"Crikey," I said quietly, "This place feels like a crypt. Did Locke give you a list, Tee?"

"Yes," Terra whispered back.

"...well?"

"...well, I memorised it and disposed of it," she replied, and tapped the side of her nose in a secretive fashion.

"'Disposed' of it," I said flatly.

"I ate it."

"You mean..." I paused, and tried to make sense of what she was saying, "You mean that you ate our shopping list so that in the event that we were caught our captors wouldn't know what we were going to buy?"

"Better to be safe than sorry!" she protested, "You never know what clever people can do with that sort of information!"

"Oh, _Callista_," I sighed, "Anyway, let's get what we came for and get out. This place is giving me the -bloody hellfire!"

A pile of rags near the till shifted slightly and unfolded, revealing itself in the process to be an ancient Figaran woman. Her face and hands had been badly weathered by sun and time, but her eyes were bright and her gaze, when she turned it on me, seemed to penetrate me to the core.

"I'll not tolerate language like that in my shop, young man!" she said coolly. Her voice was just as thin and reedy as I expected it to be, but her Vectoran was flawless.

"S-Sorry," I stuttered, trying to get my fibrillating heart back under control, "You startled me."

"Pah!" she snorted. A wrinkled hand reached behind an ear and retrieved a rather sorry-looking dog-end. There was the flare of a match, and then she leaned back in a cloud of blue-white smoke, "You youngsters need to stop living on your nerves! Learn to relax a little!"

"Well, he could certainly stand to do that," Terra agreed, throwing an amused look my way. The old lady's gaze flickered momentarily over to my sister before returning to me.

"You mentioned someone called Locke," she said, in between drags, "Would that be a Locke Cole?"

"Yeah," I said, "He recommended that we try this store."

"Hah!" she laughed shortly, "So that silly goose is still alive, then?"

"He was an hour ago."

"Still searching the world over for a way to revive that fiancée of his, no doubt?"

"What was that?" Terra said, giving the shopkeeper a sharp look, "I didn't know about that!"

"I did," I said, a little surprised despite myself, "Well, he mentioned she was dead. I didn't think he was trying to bring her back to _life_, though. That's..."

"...the ravings of a foolish old crone. Never mind me," the self-confessed old crone said, slightly too quickly, "If you see him, remind him that he owes me money."

"That doesn't surprise me at all," I said, making a mental note to catch up with Locke later, "He sent us here with a list."

"Oh, never mind that," the cigarette traced a noncommittal line of smoke through the air, but her gaze was now fixed intently on Terra, "I think I know what he wants. How many of you are there?"

"Excuse me?"

"It was a simple question, boy!"

"Four," I said shortly, a little irritated by the 'boy'.

"Hmm," she nodded at my sister, "That's a lovely hair colour you have there, my dear. Truly unique."

"Um...thank you," Terra said, touching her pony-tail a little self-consciously, "Most people just seem to stare."

My blood, meanwhile, had frozen in my veins. I just _knew_ what the damn crone was going to ask next. She clearly knew who we were, but...what did that mean? Was she-

"Whatever did you use to dye it?"

"I...um...I think its natural," my sister said, and for a moment I considered giving her a swift kick on the ankle, "It's...I-"

"It's okay, dearie," the shopkeeper said, and laughed a nasty little laugh, "Any more and you'll give your poor brother an aneurysm!"

"What?" Terra said, and seemed to see my pained expression for the first time, "Oh, I-I'm sorry, Firma, I- oh, _damn_ it!"

"You know who we are, don't you," I said irritably, "What's with the mind games?"

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm an old lady and I don't get out as much as I used to," she said frankly, "I have to take my fun where I can get it."

"So I see."

"It's funny, though," she continued, staring straight at my sister, "I could've sworn I've seen you somewhere before..."

"Well, she was on Imperial national television two weeks ago-"

"Don't be foolish!" the shopkeeper flared up suddenly, "This was a long time ago! Must've been...ooh, two decades or so!"

"You're mistaken, then," Terra said, "I'm only eighteen."

"Hah! You think my memory's going because I'm old? I never forget a face!" she laughed again, but this time it degenerated into an awful tearing cough that seemed to go on for some time.

"Hold on," I said, and took her hand. Her skin felt cold and leathery under my fingertips, and I could sense her damaged lungs labouring against the ravages of time and, from the feel of it, a twenty-a-day habit. Still, I did what I could, "There. That should help."

"Don't be silly! There's nothing wrong with me!" her voice was as sharp as ever, but her expression had softened slightly, "'Sides, I've lived a good life and I regret none of it! Three husbands, six children, an' eighteen grandchildren! Do any of those bastards come and visit me? Do they hell!"

"Language!" It was petty, but it _was_ cathartic.

"I'm eighty-seven! I'll say whatever I damn well please!" she snapped, "So, you're the children the world's tearing itself apart over, eh? Scrawny little buggers, aren't you! You should eat more!"

"And wrap up warm, perhaps?"

"I'll thank you to leave that sarcasm outside, boy," her shrewd gaze passed over both of us once again, "So; Cole's planning on spiriting you away to that secret Returner hideout, eh?"

"You know about that?" Terra sounded surprised.

"Of course I know about it!" the old lady snapped, and Terra took a step backward, "Why else do you think I would be foolish enough to extend credit to someone like Cole?"

"You...have a point," I conceded, "I'm kind of forced to ask why, though."

"'cause when you get to my time of life, you start to wander what kind of world you're going to leave for the young'uns," she said, almost wistfully, "Do I want to leave a world ruled by that crazy Emperor and his cronies? Of course not!"

"I...think I see," I said slowly, "Do you have the supplies we need?"

"Don't rush me! I'm going!" she said. Slowly, and with a great creaking and popping of joints, she hoisted herself out of her chair and headed into the back of the shop, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke and a litany of curses in her wake.

"What an... _interesting_ person," Terra said, eventually, "It was nice of you to help her, though."

"Hmm?"

"With her lungs," she added, "I felt you do something to them."

"Oh? That wasn't much I could do," I sighed, "She's too old and smokes too many rollups for me to-"

"Don't be modest, Firma. You did what you could," Terra ran a finger along the top of one of the many piles of stacked goods, and looked critically at the pile of dust that resulted, "It would probably help if someone spring-cleaned this place, though. Maybe I'll mention it to Locke."

"Mmm. Maybe he knows someone who knows someone who can do something."

"I would imagine he knows several 'someones'," she said, with a little smile, "Its _Locke_."

"True," I squinted up at the enormous gun above the till, "I wonder if that still-"

"What do you think she meant about seeing my face before?" Terra said, suddenly, "I mean it was twenty years ago, so that's impossible, right?"

"Well, I-"

"Do you think I go time-travelling at some point?" she said, her eyes bright, "Maybe I can go back and pop Kefka one before he gets too powerful!"

I raised an eyebrow, "Did Edgar's library have a pulp fiction section I didn't know about? Besides, if you _had_, we wouldn't be standing here."

"Maybe that's because I haven't gone back to pop him one _yet_."

"Or maybe it's because you look like our mum," I said, a little more sharply than I intended. To be fair, Terra's current fad of taking everything to a ludicrous extreme was beginning to wear a little on my nerves, "I mean, I've never seen a picture of her, but the time frame would probably fit. I'll _bet_ that it's a newspaper article like 'Two Die in Suspicious Fire', too."

"I bet she didn't have green hair, though!"

"Well, the picture probably wasn't in colour."

"Huh!" said Terra, and added sulkily, "Well, if I go time-travelling to the past, you can bet I'm not bringing _you_ back anything nice!"

"Yeah, because what I _really_ need is another 'World's Greatest Brother' mug," I sighed, "I was this close to completing my pyramid."

"Jerk."

Thankfully the shopkeeper chose that moment to return, dragging in her wake four large backpacks that were, I assumed, filled with the kinds of odds and sods a man like Locke would buy if he were planning some expedition into the wilderness.

"Don't worry about the money, girl," she said, as Terra went to pull out her purse, "I'll just go ahead and add it to Cole's bill."

"Are you sure?"

"'Course I am!" she snapped, "It's a small drop in the ocean compared to what that bugger owes me. 'sides, whatever your brother did to my lungs seems to have done the trick. Hasn't been this easy to breathe in years!"

"It won't last, I'm afraid," I apologised, "I suppose it'd probably be pointless to ask you to cut back a bit on your smoking, too."

The old woman smiled widely, revealing a set of yellowed, nicotine-stained teeth, "What do you think, dearie? Still, I think I'll take a walk while I still can; maybe I'll go and see if any of my grandchildren remember me."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Terra said, hefting three of the backpacks without any visible effort, "C'mon, Firma, let's get out of her hair so she can enjoy the sunshine."

I went to grab the final pack, and after a few moments struggling finally managed to get it settled across my shoulders, "Holy Callista! What's _in _these things?"

"Everything a growing boy like you needs," the shopkeeper leered, "Now, go on, scat!"

The sun was hanging low in the sky as we hauled our ill-gotten gains back to the rendezvous point, bathing everything in a strong reddish glow and creating long, dark shadows that, to me, seemed all too easy to conceal oneself in. With the temperature going down there were a few more people venturing out onto the streets, although they all seemed to be keeping their heads down and hurrying quickly to their destinations. I couldn't really blame them; the smoke pouring out of the Sentinel aid station was drifting across the city, an undeniable sign that something serious was on the horizon.

With such an atmosphere, it was definitely a relief when we rounded the corner and saw the ornate frontage of the Figaran Royal Hotel. Situated at the end of a long, broad street, the enormous building loomed over its neighbours and was covered in so much lighting and gilt that I was immediately put in mind of the most heinous Vectoran eyesores. In front of the hotel itself was a small garden containing a carefully sculpted fountain that bubbled and burbled merrily in the otherwise unpleasant silence.

"That's...wow," Terra said, apparently lost for words, "Do you think they have a shower?"

"I think they probably have several," I said, shifting the heavy backpack around a bit, "And a spa. Celes said that the posh hotels she's stayed in had spas."

"Do you think we'll have a chance to use it?"

"Um, I don't think we'll be staying here tonight."

"Oh," she said, her expression suddenly downcast, "That's a pity."

"Locke's probably got some dingy safe house somewhere safe from prying eyes, but don't worry; I'm sure he has a shower there!"

"I think he'll be lucky to have a copper tub and a fireplace," Terra retorted, with what I felt was an unfair degree of cynicism; "I may just take my chances with the ocean."

"Suit yourself," I said, and started up the street, "We'd better go find them, anyway. What's the betting that they're in the bar?"

As it turned out, they _were_ in the bar, although it did take us a good fifteen minutes to persuade the doorman that we weren't crazy arsonists or anarchists or ravers or any of the many other members of society who he seemed to assume wouldn't want to be seen within the lofty halls of the Figaran Royal. Finally, he agreed to let us in, provided that we were escorted everywhere within the premises by a rather burly porter who, I assumed, would only be too happy to kick us out the back door should the opportunity arise.

"Have I ever considered bleaching my hair?" Terra said sourly, as the bellhop ushered us past some rather astonished well-to-do folks, "I think blonde would probably suit me."

"You did, and it did...for about a day," I sniggered quietly, "Then you just looked like someone who had gone swimming and forgotten to wash her hair. Sorry."

"Damn," she said, and then suddenly she pointed and waved, "Hey, there they are! Locke! E...Gerad!"

Both men were seated at a table facing away from us, but turned quickly at the sound of Terra's voice. Locke's expression, I noted, was one of mild relief, while Edgar's brightened somewhat at our approach.

"Ah, Fiona," he said, taking my sister's hand and kissing it, "It's been far too long. And Terry! How are you? What news do you have?"

"Excuse me?" I said brightly, "Am I missing something here, _Fiona?_"

"Well...I...um..." Terra went bright red and leaned in close, "You know how I said that I'd come up with new names for us?"

"No."

"It was a little before that bomb went off."

"Ah," I thought about this for a moment, "And you came up with 'Terry' and 'Fiona', did you?"

"They're good, solid, Vectoran names!" Terra protested, "That's what Locke told me, anyway..."

Her voice trailed off as the penny dropped. Locke, I noticed, seemed to have taken an acute interest in his drink.

"That wasn't funny, Locke," she said, icily.

"Oh, I don't know," he mumbled, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"I suppose that this whole 'Gerad' business was your idea as well," she went on, and now the thief's shoulders were shaking with badly suppressed mirth, "What was next? False moustaches?"

"Oh, calm down, Tee," I said soothingly, and then totally ruined it by adding, "If it helps, you _do_ look like a Fiona."

"You two had better sleep with one eye open tonight," she said threateningly, "I'm getting a drink."

"Can you-"

"No."

With that she stalked off towards the bar, leaving an air of wounded pride in her wake.

"Was that worth it, Locke?" said Edgar, "Needling the world's most powerful Mage Knight isn't perhaps the _best_ idea you've thought up recently."

"_Entirely_ worth it," the thief snickered, "Even if it were just for yer 'Ooh, _Fiii_-ona! It's been _faaar_ too long!' Who taught you how to act?"

"You're a very irritating little man. Do you know that?" Edgar growled, and then looked at me, "What in the world happened to you and Terra? You both look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

"Probably for the best she didn't hear that," Locke muttered, "This wouldn't have anythin' to do with all these bombings, would it?"

"There was more than one?" I said, sitting down heavily, "Yeah, we were near the Sentinel aid station when someone blew it sky high."

"Someone's been doin' that right across the coast," said Locke, "Heard it on the radio; aid stations in South Figaro, Laurium, Naxos, and Koroni have all been hit. You were lucky you weren't hurt."

"Some people weren't that lucky," I replied sadly. Well, at least that ruled out the possibility of it being a hit on Terra and myself, "Think it's Imperial Intelligence?"

"Prob'ly," Locke said, "Still, at least you've gotten the goods from Macaria, so that's that job done."

"Was that her name? I never actually got it. She did say that you owed her money, though."

"Ah, we go way back," he said easily, "She's loaded, anyways."

Terra returned, carrying a pair of drinks, "Here," she said, passing one to me, "Now don't say that I don't do anything for you, okay?"

"Thanks, Fiona," I chuckled, and ducked out of the way as she took a swipe at my head, "Hey!"

"You're going to milk this for all its worth, aren't you," she said irritably, "Fine, go ahead. Get it out of your system."

"Why, thank you," I snorted, and sniffed suspiciously at the clear liquid, "Is this alcoholic?"

"Extremely."

"Fantastic," I said, and caught Edgar's disapproving expression, "What? I had a woman die in my arms today, Edgar. I _need_ a drink."

"Leave him be, Edgar," Locke agreed, "'sides, one drink ain't gonna hurt either of 'em."

"_Thank_ you," I said, and sipped the strange drink. It was sweet and fiery and, surprisingly, not entirely unpleasant, "So, how did your day go?"

"Better than yours, from the sounds of it," Edgar said, his gaze still lingering on my drink, "We got everything set up at the safe house, so we'll be able to leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"Not tonight? I...well, Terra here sensed someone tooling around with magical equipment. We think-"

Locke gave Terra a sharp look, "Was it the same as what you sensed in Katastari?"

"I...don't know," she said helplessly, "Maybe."

"He was watching the bomb site," I added, "Watching _us_, I think. I'm pretty sure he had a bunch of goons with him too."

The king and the thief exchanged a glance, "We thought that Imperial Intelligence would be here, Edgar," Locke said slowly, "Between this an' the bombings..."

Edgar rubbed his chin, "Still, we need a rest. You two _definitely_ need a rest."

"I'm fine!" Terra protested.

"I'm not," I said, "Sorry, but I need a snooze and something that isn't bloody toast."

"You seem to do nothing _but_ snooze."

"Yeah? Well..." I searched my brain for a suitable rejoinder, but nothing was forthcoming, "...shut up, Fiona."

"He's right, Terra," Locke said, cutting in quickly before the bickering started, "Look, if you're still full'a'beans then I'll need some help down at the safe house, but Edgar has access to a private suite here an' I'd reckon we'd _all_ feel better with a meal, a shower, and a change of clothes."

"I _could_ do with...those things," Terra admitted, and downed the rest of her drink, "Shall we go, then?"

Edgar's private suite was on the fourth floor of the hotel and, it had to be said, was luxurious almost to the point of obscenity. Each room was carpeted from wall to wall with shag-pile thick enough to hide my boots, and the furniture was made from the most pointlessly expensive materials known to man. Everywhere I looked, golden edging and inlaid jewels glinted back at me, and where it didn't the wooden surfaces evoked a certain sense of subdued style that, to my rather limited sense of interior design, could only be achieved by something that was very, very pricey indeed.

"My...gods," I said, and quickly kicked off my footwear. The feeling of the carpeting running through my toes was almost therapeutic, and I barely heard Locke as he walked on in and threw himself down on a long, soft sofa, "And to think, I spent eighteen years of my life living in a series of rooms smaller than your toilet."

"What can I say?" Edgar spread his hands, "It's good to be the king."

"Yeah, and I wish you'd stop saying that," I wriggled my toes through the shag-pile once again, "Actually, no, _this _makes it all okay..."

"Careful with that sofa, Locke," said the king, warningly, "It's Venattien leather!"

"I know what it is, pal," Locke snorted, and showed his boots for emphasis, "That's why I'm not putting my shoes on it, see?"

"My word, even _I've_ heard of that," I commented, "It was transported all the way here from Albrook?"

"It's an...investment," Edgar said modestly, "My father used it if he was attending meetings or ceremonies in South Figaro, and he always believed in, well...having the best."

"So..." I pointed, "That desk?"

"Thamasian mahogany."

"Crikey. That picture?"

"Original Creso," Edgar squinted, "I think it's called 'The Bowl of Figs', but I'm not sure."

"This carpet?"

"Marandese wool."

"...the bed?"

"Hand-carved from Mobliz," he said, eventually, "I believe the pillows are stuffed with phoenix down."

"You're joking."

"Not a word."

"Bugger me - where's Terra, incidentally?"

Right on cue, there was a shriek from the general direction of the bathroom, followed by a cry of 'Cold! _Cold!_'.

"I believe she's just discovered the drench shower," said Locke, with a nasty little grin, "I've been in bathrooms like that before. Four shower options, three of which that can maim you."

'Cold! Hot! _Too hot!_'

"Well, it's always nice to have someone go before you," I said philosophically, settling down and lying back on a spare settee, "So, what do we do about dinner?"

"I'll have them send something up," Edgar said, "Just lie back and relax, Firma."

All in all, it was a rather pleasant couple of hours. An expensive, if rather small, dinner was delivered and subsequently devoured, and after a quick shower I stretched out on the enormous bed and slowly, blissfully, sank into its warm embrace. The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake by Locke.

"Firma? Firma? You awake?"

"Wsafgl?" I said, and tried again, "Wha'?"

"Terra 'n I're setting off for the safe house, okay? You an' Edgar'll are to follow us in an hour, okay? He knows the way."

"Whga-why not go together?" I said, now fully awake, "Oh, right, you don't want to blow the location of the safe house, right?"

"I knew you were clever," said Locke, with just a hint of irony, "Look, you an' Edgar need to be careful. If that man in the alleyway _was_ Imperial Intelligence, then it's likely they'll have tracked us here. I've already told Edgar how to get out of here without being seen, but for the next hour or so I want you to _be_ seen. Go 'n stand in front of some windows or summat. Make a bit 'o noise. Hopefully, that'll keep their interest long enough to stave off a raid until _after_ yer gone."

"And if it _doesn't_?"

"Then yer'll have to think on yer feet a little," Locke said, and dropped his voice slightly, "Look, Firma, I'm trustin' you to look after His Majesty, an' that's not something I'd do if I thought you couldn't do it."

"You're expecting me to go toe to toe with Intelligence agents? _Really_?"

"You've done it before, pal."

"Yes, but you were always there!"

"Then I hope you were payin' _really_ close attention," he said, "Look, somewhere in that head is a smart, talented kid who is more than a match for any goons who might kick in that door. I know that 'cause I've _seen_ him, so why don't you go an' have a chat an' see if you can't bang something together in case it all goes pear-shaped, aye?"

"But-"

"Oh, and Firma? I've got a present for you. Since yer seem to have misplaced yer _last_ weapon..." Locke placed a small, matte-black pistol, a holster, and a couple of magazines on the bedside table.

"Another sidearm?" I said, and gave him a nasty look, "Really, you shouldn't have."

"I know you don't like 'em much-"

"Then why do you keep giving them to me?"

"Because I know the sorta people who're out to get us!" Locke flared suddenly, "These aren't the kind of people who you can scare off with a bit of posturing and a light show! If you don't stop them dead, they'll just keep on coming back with better equipment and more elaborate plans until they've got you bang to rights and you can _bet your_ _bloody life_ that they're not going to be as sportin' as you want to be!"

There was a long silence, and then he sighed, "Look, pal, I'm not tellin' you to go out tonight and kill anyone. I'd...just feel better if I know that you've got some means of defending yourself; y'know, besides your magic."

I looked at the pistol, and then back at him, "Okay; fine. I'll take it."

"Thanks," said Locke, and he looked just a smidgeon happier, "Remember; one hour and then follow us, aye?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good," the thief went to leave, but turned back just as he reached the door, "Oh, an' watch out for Edgar. He spent almost an hour in a fishing supply store an' wouldn't tell me what it was he was up to. I reckon he's got some new idea for that bloody crossbow of his, so just...be careful, okay?"

"I understand!"

"Right," he paused again, "Yeah, well, see you shortly, I guess."

When Locke had left, I crawled over to the gun and gave it a quick once-over with my eyes. This gun was definitely _not_ the gun of a Sentinel, which was designed to be seen rather than used. _This_ gun was so black that it almost hurt to look at, and it was small enough to be hidden almost anywhere about my person for that one, unexpected shot. In fact, a small cynical part of me said, it was _exactly_ the sort of weapon that you'd give to someone who everyone knew would be too spineless to carry a sidearm, much less use it.

"Oh, _Callista,_" I sighed, and fell backwards across the bed. As much as I hated to admit it, Locke was right; Imperial Intelligence didn't hire people for their sportsmanship or, for that matter, a finely tuned sense of mercy. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't see any long-term future in either shooting to disable or zapping them into submission; they'd just come back with better body armour or a nice big Faraday cage and, eventually, they'd get lucky.

Intellectually? I _knew _all of this, just as I knew that the best way of dealing with any intruding assassins would be to give them a terminal case of lead-based sinusitis, followed by some witty one-liner as I stood over their slowly cooling corpses. Something about decongestants, maybe.

Even as I thought that, though, I could feel the nausea rising in my stomach, accompanied by the memory of that poor Narshe guardian bleeding out in the snow. I had had nightmares about that for _days_; probably'd still be having them if that shadowy Elli hadn't intruded on my dreams. While she was certainly no picnic, I was _absolutely_ sure I didn't want to start dreaming about him again...

In the end I took it, if only because I didn't want to have Locke yell at me for leaving it in the suite. My moral dilemma about actually killing people had managed to successfully trundle in circles for a good forty minutes without any resolution in sight, so for now I decided to stick it on the back burner and hope that anyone who got in my way would just shoot themselves if I asked nicely enough.

Edgar was in the main room, working intently away at a desk in the far corner. Based on the tools strewn about the place, as well as the constant stream of mutterings and curses, I had to agree with Locke's suspicions that Edgar was further modifying his automatic crossbow-cum-PIAT. There was a twang, another curse, and a piece of metal shot across the room and hit a vase, which shattered spectacularly.

"Oh, blow!" said Edgar, sucking at his finger, "Oh, hello Firma. Did you have a good snooze?"

"Not bad," I lied, "What in the world are you doing out here?"

"I'm just experimenting with a new non-lethal capture gun," he said, and hoisted his crossbow up and onto his shoulder. The front end of the weapon had been substantially modified, and now consisted of a large, claw-like appendage across which a large, nylon net was stretched almost to breaking point, "I'm...having some trouble with the forces involved, though."

"So I see," I said, looking warily at the broken vase, "Non-lethal, you say?"

"I _did_ say I was experimenting," said Edgar, and then, "Out with it, man."

"I...beg your pardon?"

"You look like you want to ask me something," he pressed, "Well, what is it?"

"I don't suppose you have an archive of newspapers kicking around somewhere, do you? And an archivist?"

Edgar looked at me sharply, "You know, I think I heard Terra asking Locke something about that earlier. What are you two looking for?"

"That old lady who gave us our equipment said that she'd seen Terra somewhere about twenty years ago. She seemed pretty certain..."

"You mean the 'I never forget a face' kind of certain?" Edgar smiled slightly, "Matron says that all the time, but she's got a memory like a sieve. I shouldn't think too much about it, my friend."

"I don't think she actually _saw _Terra, y'know," I said quickly, "That's ludicrous. What I _actually_ think is she may have seen our mum."

"I suppose that's a possibility," Edgar rubbed his chin, "Unless, of course, Terra goes time-travelling at some point. You know, maybe to stop Kefka before-"

"Yes_, _I_ know_!" I snapped, "Sorry. Look, I'm _know_ it's a long shot, but if she remembered it then it may have been something significant, and maybe it was covered in a newspaper. It's not urgent, but if you have someone with the time, then..."

"I'll see what I can do, Firma," said Edgar, "What do you want them to look for?"

"Any likeness of Terra around twenty years ago, really," I said, "I don't know that they'll find anything, but..."

"Okay," he said, "Anything else?"

"Yeah," I took a deep breath, "I think it's about time to go."

"Isn't it a little early?" Edgar put the automatic crossbow-cum-PIAT-cum-netgun back on the desk and checked his watch, "Locke specified an hour."

"Forty minutes, an hour," I shook my head, "What's twenty minutes? Besides, he told me to look out for you, so I'm saying we're quitting this place before Imperial Intelligence turns up and kills us."

An eyebrow went up, "That's unusually assertive of you."

"I can be assertive!" I objected, "I just...look, grab your stuff, would you? We need to get movi-"

At that point, all the lights went out. With a hum, the emergency lighting flickered to life, bathing the room in a nightmarish red glow.

"-ng!" I finished, a little pedantically, "Oh, _balls_."

"Your old friends, I assume," Edgar remarked, quickly gathering his tools into a small roll-up kit, "A little earlier than Locke expected, I must say."

"Indeed," I decided, charitably, not to comment on my complete and utter vindication, "Locke said you know a way out of here. What is it?"

"Well, he suggested that we go up to the roof. We should be able to transition from building to building until we reach a suitable distance from the hotel, at which point we can descend to ground level and make our way to the safe house on foot."

"Great," I made a mental note to suitably _thank_ Locke at a later date, "How high is this building, exactly?"

"Eight stories, I believe."

"_Great_."

The outside corridor was, unfortunately, also lit with the same horrible red lights that seemed to colour everything without actually illuminating it. Deep, dark shadows were everywhere, except at the far end where bright, pearl-white moonlight spilled in through the enormous bay window.

"Is there anyone there?" breathed Edgar. I shook my head silently in response, but slowly removed my gun from its holster and cocked it as quietly as I could. The small pistol suddenly felt totally inadequate against whatever waited for us in the dark, but it would have to do for now.

"The service stairs are at the end of the corridor on the left," he continued, "It's a metal door; you can't miss it."

I nodded once and started down the corridor, scurrying silently between the oases of darkness. Behind me, the clinks and jangles of Edgar, his cloak, and his damnable automatic-thingamajig echoed painfully in my ears. Imperial Intelligence must _know_ which floor we were on; surely, they'd be up here like a bloody shot once they'd cut the power...

But no, we reached the end of the corridor without incident, and I loitered uneasily in a handy shadow while Edgar tested the door and inspected the lock.

"Sorry," he whispered, "It looks like we'll require a key. We could force it-"

"No way!" I hissed, "That'll bring the entire building down on us!"

"Could you cut it?"

"I...could," I admitted, "I'd rather not, though; it'll create a lot of light..."

"Then what _do_ we do?"

"Well, where are the normal stairs? Down the...what? What's wrong?"

Edgar's face had gone absolutely rigid, "There's...there's a man! End of the corridor!"

As quickly as I dared, I gingerly turned my head to look. He was right; at the end of the corridor there was a figure of a man outlined in the moonlight. For a moment I hoped that it was just another person out on a night-time stroll, but then they turned and I saw the silhouette of a compact submachine gun.

"Assassin," I mouthed. Edgar nodded, his face pale. Another man joined the first, and they started surreptitiously down the corridor towards the room we had just vacated. When they found it empty, I knew that their next port of call would undoubtedly be this end of the corridor. If we were going to escape quietly, we only had a small window of opportunity.

"Right," I muttered, "We'll wait for them to go inside, and then I'll cut the lock. I'll weld it shut from the other side once we know its clear; that should give us a bit of a head-start."

I watched, with my heart in my mouth, as the two assassins reached the royal suite and gently tried the door handle. If one of them decided to stay outside...

The door opened with a slight click and the two assassins slipped inside. Quickly, I shouldered Edgar to one side and ignited a thin, golden blade on the tip of a finger before drawing it sharply down the inside of the doorjamb. The metal hissed and spat a shower of sparks, lighting up the corridor with speckles of golden light. From somewhere within the door there came a _'twang!'_ and the heavy door swung inwards. Quickly, Edgar and I scuttled inside and gently closed it behind us.

"Phew," I muttered. Standing up, I ran my hands over the edges of the door. Under my glowing fingertips, metal hissed and spat as it was distorted and trapped it against the door-frame. While it wouldn't stand up to a decent salvo, it might buy us a few precious minutes in which to make good our escape, "Up?"

Edgar nodded, but indicated that I should have a look over the stairwell. Somewhere, a toe-curlingly long way down, a series of flashlights were making their way up the service stairs, accompanied by the heavy tread of boots on concrete.

"Heavies," I said, flexing my arms for emphasis, "We'd better move."

As quickly as we could, we moved upwards towards the roof. From somewhere down below, there was a rattle as someone tried to open the service door, followed by a series of thuds that were, from the sound of it, becoming progressively more frustrated by the minute. In the darkness, Edgar winked at me a grinned wolfishly, but said nothing.

The stairs came to an abrupt end four floors up, with a metal service door almost identical to the one I had vandalised so far below.

"Good," Edgar said, breathing a slight sigh of relief, "The stairs to the roof will be on this floor. Do you want to cut the door again?"

I nodded, and quickly got to work. Once again, there was a hiss of metal and a sudden shower of sparks that, despite my best efforts, began coursing down the stairwell, spitting and glowing like some kind of signal flare.

"That's torn it," Edgar muttered. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the cones of flashlights flickering upwards, trying to discern the source of the glowing rain. Moments later, there was a shout and then the dreaded noise of feet pounding on stairs, "We were doing so well, too."

"Shut up!" I hissed and wrenched the door open, snapping the weakened lock with a shriek of protesting metal. Once through, I quickly turned and sealed the door as I had before, although I had little hope of it actually holding them back for long, "Right! Where now?"

"Other end of the corridor," said Edgar, "That's what Locke said, anyway."

"Well, we'd better-"

The uncomfortable 'cla-click' of a cocked gun behind us froze the blood in my veins, and we both turned slowly to stare down the barrel of a submachine gun, glinting nastily in the moonlight. There was, presumably, a man somewhere on the other side of that gun, but at this exact moment in time he seemed like a rather secondary detail.

"Hands up," he said, in a thick Vectoran accent, "If you move, I'll shoot."

He certainly wasn't bluffing; both his even tone and calm, steady grip on his gun indicated that he was a professional, although to be honest I hadn't expected anything else. Still, the man on the train had presumably been a professional...with a shrug; I concentrated all my power into my shields and took a long step sideways to cover Edgar.

In the relative confines of the corridor, the mad chatter of the submachine gun was deafening, matched only by the scream of heated metal as the bullets slammed into my defences, leaving a series of golden ripples in their wake. The twisted metal glowed and glittered as it span inside my kinetic barriers before finally hitting the floor with a rather sandy-sounding rattle.

The assassin wasted no time in going for his knife, but Edgar was there first, and was already sighting down the barrel of his net gun as the man lunged forwards. There was a 'thung!' and the undeployed net struck the man full in the chest with enough force to hurl him through the bay window directly behind him.

I listened, somewhat disbelievingly, to the rapidly receding scream. There was a bone-chilling crunch, and then silence.

"You're a menace to society," I said acidly, turning to Edgar, "You realise that, don't you?"

"I-I-I," Edgar stammered, and staggered over to look out the window, "Well...I _did_ say I was having some trouble with the forces..."

"You also said 'non-lethal'."

"Well...the net wasn't the cause of death!" Edgar protested, "It was...oh, heavens..."

"Look, if it helps, he was planning on killing _us_," I said. There was a thud from the service door, and I was brought back to reality with a jolt, "But now isn't the time to be discussing this! Let's get out of here!"

I dragged the stunned king down the corridor as the thumps and thuds from the service shaft became more intense. A moment later there was a burst of gunfire, and the door fell off its hinges and crashed to the floor. Imperial assassins wearing full combat gear poured through the opening, and suddenly we found ourselves in the sights of a half-dozen assault rifles.

"Freeze!" a voice boomed.

"Oh, bugger," I muttered, "Edgar...!"

"Its right here!" said the king, and indicated a simple wooden door that, irritatingly enough, had the Figaran for 'roof access' written on it as plain as day. Quickly, he wrenched the door open and, as bullets began to chew up the floor just behind us, we started up the stairs to blessed freedom.

The cool, refreshing Figaran night was a welcome relief from the confining, red-lit hell of the Royal hotel. There was a gentle breeze coming in from the ocean, and the moonlight was casting the white buildings in a soft, pearlescent glow. For a moment Edgar and I stopped to catch our breath.

"Bloody...bloody hell," I said, checking myself to make sure nothing had breached my shields, "That was _too_ damn close."

"Indeed," a voice chuckled, and a moment later my brain realised that it was not, in fact, Edgar, "Hello, Sparky."

There was a _'bang!'_, and then my world exploded into pain and tumbling, crackling golden shards. Edgar caught me as I fell, and propped me up against the outside of the staircase as the world spun nauseatingly around me.

"Wh-what in the..." I began, and then threw up violently. It felt, somehow, like someone had managed to hit me in the brain. With a _mallet_.

"Do you remember me?" the voice rang muzzily in my head, and I gingerly lifted my gaze to see two identical men walk slowly towards me. Strangely, they had identical bandages on the same hand, "_Don't_ move, your Majesty," the man added, "Or I fear I will have to do something we shall both regret."

"You...you," I tried to focus, and finally the two images swam together, "You're...the man from the train! But I thought I..."

"Broke my hand? Indeed," the man held up his bandaged hand for emphasis, "You don't think a minor injury like this would stop me from discharging my duties, do you? You're _mine_ now, Sparky!"

"There's about...about six guys down there who may beg to differ," I slurred, trying rather ham-fistedly to play to his pride. Somehow, however, it worked, and the assassin walked over to the door and closed it, locking it with a single, chilling click.

"They won't be bothering us," he said, smiling nastily, "I can't let anyone else take the credit for bringing you in, now can I?"

"What's your name?" said Edgar, clearly playing for time.

"What do you care, your Majesty?" the man replied bluntly, "Still, I suppose that Sparky here may have heard of me. My mates back at HQ call me 'Jumbo', because-"

"-because you're...you're the smallest guy they know?" I said, wearily.

"You _have_ heard of me, then?"

"No, but I know what passes for humour amongst your kind," I spat.

"Careful now, Sparky, or I'll have to shoot you again," Jumbo held up a revolver with a strange purple grip, "Thaumium rounds. Apparently they cost over twenty thousand gil a shot, but I'll be able to report back that they're well worth it. 'broke through your shields like bad china, and incapacitated you to boot!"

"Thaumium, eh?" said Edgar, and hissed to me, "That's what Terra wrote all over that book of mine!"

"Imagine what you could have if it weren't for all those budget cuts," I snorted. It seemed to me that the debilitating effect of those new rounds was fairly short-lived, but my magic was now totally on the fritz and I had no idea how long it would be until my reserves rebuilt themselves.

"So...what do you plan on doing with us?" asked Edgar, "Now that you have us totally at your mercy, of course."

"Well, I _was_ expecting his twin sister to be here," Jumbo, apparently, could not resist an opportunity to monologue his little cotton socks off, "After I saw them earlier-"

"So that was _you_?" I exclaimed, "Terra thought she saw someone a little suspect. Let me guess; it was _you_ behind the bombing in South Figaro?"

"Never mind that, Sparky," Jumbo waved a hand, "General Palazzo wants you dead or alive, Sparky, and from the way he was frothing when he gave that order I'm fairly sure he doesn't mind which. Still, I also hear that Agent Gagnon is absolutely _dying_ to catch up with you, too. You remember him? He's the one whose eye you took."

"You _what_?" said Edgar, looking at me

"It's a long story," I said wearily, "They used to call him 'Monster'. When you consider the kind of stupid nicknames that they've come up with for everyone else...well, he's a total psychopath."

"He's got you in his sights, Firmament. Has done for years, but he was too scared of your Major Anceleti to take action," Jumbo laughed shortly, "Now you're out here on your own, well, he's-"

"-free to come and lose his other eye, if he wants," I said coolly, "Maybe he'll prefer being blind; I know how he used to love to _touch_ his subjects. The nickname'd probably be better than his current one, too."

"I'm sure you can suggest to him a list of new ones, when you finally meet. Of course, you may not be in much of a state to talk."

"I don't think he'll be in much of a state to listen, but that's not really the point," I said, slowly hauling myself up the wall as if my strength were completely drained, "The point is that we're not going with you."

"I beg your pardon?" Jumbo, for a moment, looked rather confused, "You _are_ aware that I'll shoot you if-"

"No you won't," I shook my head, "If you wanted us dead, _actually_ dead, you would've opened the door and let your assault team in."

"Maybe I just want _you_ alive," he countered, and the thaumium gun tracked over to Edgar, who flinched, "A dead king is still a political coup."  
"Well, that answers my earlier question," Edgar muttered.

"But now the gun's no longer pointed at me," I said nastily, "Who knows what kind of horrible things I can cook up in that half-second between you shooting him and me?"

"You can't scare me like that, Sparky," Jumbo sneered, "I know all about you. You were too weak to survive in Imperial Intelligence so you went and joined the airy-fairy Sentinels! You couldn't hurt a fly!"

"Probably not," I admitted, "Then again, maybe I _could_ hurt an Imperial assassin who's threatening one of my friends. You _saw_ me on the train, Jumbo; you know what I can do when the mood takes me."

The air crackled between us, and for a moment I genuinely had no idea what he was going to do. Then, suddenly, Edgar was holding a gun - my gun, I realised belatedly, and was staring down the sights at the assassin.

"What is it they say? Oh, yes, 'Don't mo-'"

A shot rang out, and Edgar staggered. Almost disdainfully Jumbo slapped the gun out of the king's hand, before dumping him to the floor with a vicious leg-sweep. Already, I could see the blood starting to spread across Edgar's abdomen, and felt the rage start to build buoyed up by a mixture of pain and fear.

"Now, maybe _you'll_-"

I leapt. In mid-air I heard another distinctive 'bang' and pain tore down my leg, but sheer momentum carried me into the operative and bore us both to the floor. Before he could recover, I grabbed his head and slammed it into the hard Figaran stone, before reaching for the purple gun and wrenching it free of his grasp. He countered with a hard blow to my nose, and as I reeled he took his leg under my torso and flipped us over.

It was a well-matched fight; his thaumium round may have knocked my magical abilities for six, but that which remained, and my comparative youth, served as balance to his far superior technique. We rolled backwards and forwards across the top of the Royal, using whatever appendages and surfaces we could lay our hands on. A knife appeared at one point, but traded hands with a flash of steel and was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Grimly, I hung on, not wanting to give him a chance to get any distance or, worse, recover that damn thaumium gun. Blows continued to rain down on my head, my body, anywhere he could land them, and the cuts and bruises began to run together into a single, agonising wound. Seizing an opportunity, I bit deep into his hand and was rewarded with a hiss of pain before his other hand came around and drove my head into the floor.

"Should've stayed with Intelligence," Jumbo panted, as he drove his thumbs into the base of my throat, "Maybe we could've taught you how to fight."

My retort, such as it was, came out as a rattling choke. Imitating what I had seen earlier, I brought my leg across and tried to flip us over. There was a moment while we both strived for supremacy, and then I sent him sprawling across the rooftop. I staggered quickly to my feet, retching and choking, and felt a thousand injuries cry out for my immediate attention.

"Don't...you...move," Jumbo said. The assassin was holding my gun, albeit a little unsteadily, and his face was a mess of cuts and bruises, "Not an inch."

In that moment, I thought more quickly than I had in quite some time. He was too far away to reach before he shot me, and my shields were too weak to stop the bullet from hitting my vitals. I didn't have the magical reserves necessary to crush his hand, or his skull, or draw the air out of his lungs or any of the many horrible ideas my imagination suddenly threw up. I had just about enough strength for one small spark. Now, how in the world could I play that to my advantage?

Well, he _had_ been accommodating in picking up my pistol...

"Don't move!" he snapped again, "I _will_ shoot you, Sparky."

Other people may have wasted their time with a pithy one-liner, but I knew my audience. Instead, I dove to one side as the gun barked in my direction, and as he brought the gun around to reacquire his target I focused my energies inside the magazine, where ten small, but effective charges were just _waiting_ to be put to use.

The gun exploded spectacularly, showering us with molten metal and unexploded gunpowder. Jumbo screamed and dropped the twisted hunk of metal, clutching as his ruined hand with the bandaged one. Not wanting to give him a chance to recover, I hauled him up bodily and slammed him against the stairway as hard as I could.

"You've had _two _shots, and you've blown both of them," I said, breathing heavily, "No more...no more..."

With a crack of lightning, I called my razor-thin golden blade into existence once again. This wasn't a blade for cutting locks or warping doors, however. This was very much a killing-people golden blade, and from the sudden look of sheer terror on his face I could tell he knew it.

"Look, Sparky..." he said, frantically, "You're a nice guy! You like gardening and sleeping in! You're not a killer! Y'know, in Imperial Intelligence you're _famed_ for that! 'Sides, you're a Sentinel! What about the oaths you took? What would Callista think if she saw you here right now?"

For just an instant, I was back in Narshe. I could feel the blood on my shoulder and taste the snow, and _there_ was the Narshe guardian, bearing down on Terra and myself with the knife in his hand and murder in his eyes. I didn't want to kill him; I _really_ didn't want to kill him, but as much as I had begged and prayed over the past week of nightmares nobody had answered, and there was the gun, my gun...

"I'm sorry," I said, "I really am."

There was a scream, and a harsh crackle of electricity. Suddenly, I was back in South Figaro with a dead, smoking Imperial assassin at my feet. I felt numb and exhausted, but at the same time somehow satisfied. The Empire's best, eh? They'll have to do better than that if-

Edgar's rending cough got my immediate attention, and I quickly scrambled over the rooftop to his side.

"Edgar? You still conscious?" I asked quickly.

"Why..." Edgar groaned, "Why did you apologise to him?"

"Doesn't matter," I replied shortly, "Where did he get you?"

"I...I can't breathe," he said, between quick, shallow breaths, "I think I'm done for..."

"So, I guess _I'm_ going to have to tell Terra about your heroic sacrifice, then," I said, running my fingers over the affected area. Lung shot, eh? What to do, what to do... "A pity, really, since I was going to give you all the credit for dealing with Jumbo..."

There was a pause, and then, "You're just saying that."

"Oh, heavens no!" I snorted, and began to telekinetically extract the bullet from its final resting place. Maybe I could stabilise him for now, and treat him properly once we were away? "I mean, the way _I_ remember it is that you bravely dove in front of me to take the bullet for me, and then despite having only one functional leg you beat him in hand to hand combat whilst balancing on the very edge of the building," I looked around, "I think there was a lion, too."

"What happened to it?"

"My memory's a little hazy, what with my hiding in the corner sobbing and all, but I distinctly remember you executed a perfect elbow-drop on it from the top of that air-conditioning unit over there," I nodded at the large metal structure, "You were truly inspiring."

"You know, maybe you're right," Edgar smiled weakly, "Maybe I'm not beyond saving!"

"Of course not," I said flatly, "Stop being melodramatic."

"_He_ is, though," Edgar looked over at the still-smoking corpse of Jumbo, "My word. I feel like I missed something."

"Not really," I replied, "He did most of the fighting. Um..."

"What?"

"That was bloody silly, what you did. You had to know he was going to shoot you. So...why?"

"Well, I had to give you an opening."

"But he could've shot you dead!"

"It was a risk, yes."

"And you didn't _know_ I was going to do anything! I could've frozen up!"

"But you didn't."

"But I- you know what? Forget it," I said, and helped him gently to his feet, "Look, it's not fixed yet, so don't over-exert yourself. Let me know the _minute _you have trouble breathing."

"Thank you," Edgar said, simply, "Are you okay? With...killing Jumbo, I mean."

I gave the corpse one last look, and turned away, "I did my duty. I just have to hope that Callista accepts my reasoning."

"I'm sure she will. Meanwhile, I want to take a look at _that_. Can you get it for me?" Edgar indicated the discarded thaumium gun, "A shield breaking pistol? How very, _very_ interesting..."


	28. Chapter 9: Firmament Branford and etc

**Chapter 9: Firmament Branford and the One-eyed Monster**

You know how sometimes things seem an awful lot smarter in your head than they do on paper? That header up there is a perfect example. In my defence, however, it must be said that if the sense of humour in Imperial Intelligence had ever progressed beyond that of sex-crazed teenagers, then maybe, just _maybe_, Agent Gagnon would have been given a new nickname more along the lines of ooh, say, 'Cyclops'. Sure, as nicknames go there aren't many that are _less_ original, but at least it evokes the right sort of imagery and people would've been able to talk to him without sniggering behind his back.

Don't think, however, that I'm actually _sympathising_ with that half-crazed monocular psychopathic rabid son-of-a-diseased-duck-billed-platypus torturing _bastard_. I'm just covering my own back.

Still, that's by the by. I thought that we'd take a short break from The Exciting Adventures Of His Royal Highness King Edgar And That Damn Handsome Sentinel so that I can vent! Isn't that just grand? Anyway, what I want to whine about today are the total bloody _reprobates_ who queue up every other day outside the aid station demanding that I _immediately_ devote all of my magical resources to treating their sniffles or their halitosis or to make the man of their dreams fall in love with them. Sorry, madam; I can certainly shoot your intended with a bow and arrow, but then he'll probably be spending too much time being dead to get to know you and your five hundred cats any better. Next!

This, I suppose, is something that should _really_ be taken from the top. As everyone knows, thanks to relatively recent events we still have a _severe_ shortage of skilled tradesmen who, critically, also happen to still have a pulse. Unfortunately, since our attempts to tap the pulse-free demographic have hitherto been unsuccessful (not to mention grisly) everyone who can is expected to wear as many hats as possible until we're back up to strength. In my case, this means that I have to trek endlessly back and forth between Figaro Intelligence and the recently rebuilt waterfront aid station in order to fulfil my duties to both His Majesty's Government and the Sentinels. Now, while I'm perfectly happy being the Sentinel attaché to the Intelligence services (barring the occasional period of aching, _aching_ boredom), I have to admit, based on my current experiences, that I'm not cut out to be a front-line Sentinel.

It's a personality thing, really. You see, the sort of Sentinels who man aid stations are kindly, patient folk who like to listen to people go on and on and _on_ about their various woes. As you have probably worked out by now, I am...not. On the better days, when the coffee machine is working, I can smile and nod patiently while Mr. Bloggs 'umms' and 'aahs' his way through his shoulder pain and the entirety of his life up until this point. This is useful, because the longer he talks, the longer I have to turn my senses loose and find out exactly what the damage is. On those dark, dark days when we're out of coffee, however, it gets grim. If someone should commit the cardinal sin of coming to see me, I'll give them a glassy smile, shake their hand and say something like 'Hurt your shoulder, Mr. Bloggs? Nasty case of gonorrhea, too.' As it turns out, people don't like you overruling their opportunity to vent, they don't like _you_ telling _them_ what is wrong with them (although I was given to understand that that was, well, my _job_) and they _certainly_ don't like coming in with a frozen shoulder and leaving with a leaflet on venereal diseases. That sort of manoeuvre gets complaints.

Still, it's nothing compared to the number of complaints I get for not waving my hand and _immediately_ resolving their _extremely annoying_ and _most awful_ case of the sniffles. The problem? I'm not allowed to do that. My magical abilities are considered to be a limited resource (like the MRI, only on two legs and a coffee drip) and so they require some very senior signatures and are _only_ used on people who would otherwise not live to see Tuesday. Of course, explaining this to the general public doesn't stop them from bloody trying to _wheedle_ and _cajole_ it out of me, does it now. I _know_ it's annoying that I can't fix your broken leg on the spot, but maybe _you'd_ like to go and explain to little Molly why it is that I can't treat her dad's end-stage glioma. No? Didn't think so. Next!

My word, that went on a little bit longer than I intended to, but I certainly feel a lot better! I just wish I didn't have to recount this next bit...

Compared to the excitement that had resulted in Edgar and myself being on top of the Hotel Royal, getting down was positively dull. We had, as the king had suggested, simply transitioned from roof to roof until we found a fire escape that looked like it was still in good repair. From there, it was simply a matter of a stomach-churning descent to ground level and we were free to stagger off into the night, towards the outskirts of town and, according to Edgar, our safe haven.

"I don't get it," I said, once we had reached what I thought to be a safe distance.

"Get what?" wheezed Edgar. His skin had paled considerably during our escape, and his breathing was harsh and laboured. Another reason for moving quickly, I decided.

"I don't understand why Imperial Intelligence has been acting so..._odd_," I said, "They had heavy weaponry, well-trained men, and an eight-to-one advantage in numbers; _why_ would Jumbo throw all that away just so he could have a climatic roof-top showdown? I would've just riddled us with bullets and gone home early."

"He did say he wanted all the credit," said Edgar, "I'll admit; I don't know enough about his kind to say if that's a good reason or not."

"Nope," I said, and laughed humourlessly, "He would've gotten a lot more credit for actually _completing_ his assignment. Still, I suppose we're still here _because_ of his stupidity, so I hope they continue being crazy."

"Along the lines of Golems in sand dunes, you mean?"

"Bad example... but you know what? It _does_ feel a bit like that, doesn't it? I can very easily see Kefka jeopardising an operation just 'cause he thought it'd be more _entertaining_."

"However does a man like that get so much-" Edgar stopped, and then added brightly, "Ah, we're here!"

I had to admit, I felt cheated. From all of Terra's awful spy novels, I had assumed that a safe house was some kind of high-tech steel structure filled with big, thick doors that could only be opened by people with the right kind of eyeball and had wall-mounted machineguns to neatly fillet everyone else. _This_ safe house, by comparison, was extremely boring, and to add insult to injury it looked about as safe as skinny-dipping in a piranha tank.

At some point, presumably before the discovery of fire, it had probably looked like a perfectly normal Figaran town house. Unfortunately, the ravages of time, weather, and possibly a madman with a wrecking ball had reduced the pristine white stonework to a cracked and pitted mess of seriously dubious structural integrity. Between them, the windows possibly had enough glass to fill a single pane, and the door itself was a pile of dust held together by planks of rotting wood. I gave the doorknob a rather half-hearted little jiggle, and was not entirely surprised when it came off in my hand with a faint 'ping' of snapping metal.

"Budget cuts again?" I sighed.

"Well, it's not the suites at the Royal," Edgar said, with rather forced brightness, "But I'm sure it'll do for the night!"

There was a 'crunch', and the door disintegrated into a pile of splinters and mould.

"I'm sure it will," I said shortly, and stepped over the debris into the hallway beyond. It was a tiny, cramped space, filled to bursting with old, decaying furniture that stank of mould and was covered in a thin film of dust. "In fact, it's positively lovely in here."

A tile snapped loudly under Edgar's boot as he entered behind me, "Are we sure this is the place? It's so_ dark, _and...and..."

"Charmingly antique."

"That's very...charitable of you," Edgar said, eventually, "But in any case, where _have_ Locke and your sister got to?"

"Not sure," I gave a chair an experimental prod, and backed up quickly when something inside chittered furiously at me, "Are you sure that this is the _right_ condemned house?"

"Oh, Locke gave me very specific instructions."

"Good for him," I pursed my lips, "Look; I reckon that we're probably safe here, at least for a little while, and your chest wound needs immediate attention. We can look for them in a little while."

"I can keep going!" protested Edgar, his hand moving protectively to cover the bloodstain on his shirt, "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Yeah, that's 'cause I'm holding it shut with my mind," I pointed out, "If I lose control, you'll soon discover how bad it really is. Now sit!"

"B-But that chair..." the king gave it a nervous look, "It looks...inhabited."

"Then sit on the floor!" I snapped irritably, "Good lord, you're alright with heavily armed Imperial assassins but _rats_ are too much for you?"

"Do you know how large rats in Figaro can get?" said Edgar, tartly, "They might be rabid, too."

"_I'll_ be rabid in a second if you don't find somewhere to park yourself!" I snarled, and then stopped myself, "I'm sorry, it's-"

"It's okay, Firma," Edgar said, "Incidentally, have you noticed how clean the floor is? It seems odd, don't you think?"

He was right, and it _was_ odd. While the furniture looked like it hadn't been moved in years and probably supported a thriving ecosystem, the floor itself was almost clean enough to eat from. The tiles _gleamed_.

"That's...a little weird," I admitted.

"Oh, it wouldn't do to have our safe house all dusty now, would it? If it were, there'd be footprints leadin' right to the secret entrance. Any ol' fool'd be able to find it!"

"That's...a good point," I frowned, "And a _really_ good impression of Locke, your Majesty. I didn't know you did accents."

"He don't," Locke growled, _right_ behind me, "Evenin', pals."

"Good evening, Locke," said Edgar, "Where in the world did you spring from?"

"The cellar," he said, "We had this place done up so's you can only get to it through a false wall."

"Of course you did," I smiled glassily, "You sure took a long time to show yourself. Is...is Terra okay?"

"Oh, she's fine," Locke said, but then his expression darkened, "Sorry about waitin', Firma, but we've already had...visitors, tonight. Had to be sure you were alone."

"Imperial Intelligence?"

"Good guess."

"The dramatic pause was a dead giveaway," I paused, "Are you _sure_ it was them?"

"Well," Locke cocked his head, "I could see that they was armed, an' one of them was _definitely_ from East Vector - y'know, rhymin' slang and everything. Not really sure who else'd fit the bill."

"Oh," I said, and felt a little embarrassed, "Guess we weren't as safe here as I thought, Edgar."

"Never mind that, now," Locke said quickly, "We'd better get you two down where it's safe. What in the world happened to you, anyway? It looks like you've had a pretty exciting evening."

"Well, we had...visitors too," I said, and helped Edgar to his feet, "Things got more than a little hairy."

"I'll go put the kettle on, shall I? This sounds like it should be good," Locke turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder, "I told you that you could handle 'em, eh?"

While the house itself had been a bug-infested heap of masonry the secret room was, I was pleased to discover, a rather well appointed little place. Sure, there were no windows, and what furniture there was was rather functional in nature, but it was large, cool, and actually felt _safe_. On one side there was a space for preparing food, with a large wooden table that was presumably for eating it. The other side contained six hard-looking beds and a large pile of bags that, rather depressingly, represented most of our worldly possessions.

My sister was waiting at the base of the stairs with an intent expression, which rapidly melted into relief as she saw Locke and I helping Edgar down into the safe room.

"Firma!" she cried, and caught me in a bone-grinding hug, "You're safe! And alive! And...what happened to your _face_?"

"Well, I-" I started.

"Good lord!" Terra gasped, having caught sight of Edgar's blood-soaked shirt, "Whatever happened to your chest, your Majesty?"

"He got shot," I said, and added in a slightly hurt tone, "My face is fine too, thanks."

"Well, why is he still moving around?" Terra glared at me, "He needs medical attention!"

"I...but...he-" I spluttered, and gave up, "You know what? You're right. Edgar? Shut up and lie down on that table."

"But I haven't said anything!" the king protested.

"Well, now would be a _really_ bad time to do so," I said ominously, "Put the kettle on, Locke, and I'll tell you how _our_ evening went."

In the absence of assassins and nervous, shadowy alleyways, Edgar's injury suddenly seemed rather less life-threatening and more of a minor irritation. Okay, yes, the idiot _had_ been shot in the chest, and _yes_, the only thing keeping his blood on the inside was my magical botch-job, but these were trivial problems to a magically enhanced surgeon, especially when he wasn't about to dance the bullet fandango. Still, I was tired, and dealing with Edgar's wounds as well as the constant distraction of Locke and Terra's interrogation was more than a little wearing.

"Okay, there's something I still don't understand," Terra said, once I had finished an only-slightly embellished description of our climatic rooftop showdown, "You said he was short, yeah? Shorter than me?"

"...yes?" I said, a little wearily. I knew where this one was going.

"So _why_ did they call him Jumbo, then?" she asked irritably, "That doesn't make any sense! If _I_ were in charge, I'd have called him something like 'Tiny' or...or 'Mr. Small'! At least then people would know what to expect!"

There was a brief silence, and then Locke coughed.

"Well...ignorin' that fer just a minute," he said, giving Terra a slightly puzzled look, "_I_ want to hear more about this eye that yer took."

I winced, "Yes, I thought you might."

"Mmm...y'see, I heard that there were a real _bastard_ in Imperial Intelligence who lost an eye a couple of years back. I didn't realise that that was because of _you_."

"Well...it was a trying situation," I said, and added quickly, "I don't really remember too much about it."

"Yeah, right," he snorted, "If _I_ half-blinded someone, I'm pretty damn sure that I'd remember it."

"I'm really glad for you," I said, feeling a little annoyed by his frankness, "Still, that doesn't mean _I_ remember my run-in with Agent Gagnon, y'know."

"We've got plenty of time, Firma," Locke replied, with the air of someone who was settling in for the duration, "I'm sure it'll all just come _floodin'_ back to you."

Okay, Locke, I concede this point. While I can happily report that I have not knowingly blinded anyone _else_ throughout my rather hi-octane career, I will admit that I can remember Gagnon's ruined face (and the events surrounding it) in quite frankly nausea-inducing detail. Before you attempt to seize on this admission, however, I would like to point out that it does _not_ validate any of your other, crazier ideas. For a start, I still refuse to accept that there could possibly be a huge population of so-called 'monsters' camped out on the moon. I mean, _look_ at it! Where, exactly, on that dull, lifeless, _air_less ball of rock are they hiding, precisely? Keep in mind that if you come back with something like 'oh, they're under the surface where we can't see them!' I _will_ ask Celes to tie you down and beat some sense into you. From what I hear, she'd rather enjoy that.

Anyway, on that _intensely_ awkward note (and having just signed my own death warrant) I suppose the rest of you can join me on another highly exciting trip to the past! This time, we'll be looking at the month or so after Terra and my sixteenth birthday, which we had celebrated by having an absolutely _stinking _row after which we had promised _never_ to talk to one another again. You know how this sort of thing goes, I'm sure.

If there's one thing I remember about that particular winter (besides our blazing argument) it was that Wareydon was _freezing_. While winter in Wareydon was normally a pretty unfriendly affair, _this_ time the region had been favoured by a cold snap that looked set to be an all-time record breaker. The icy weather, with the associated blizzards, had the rather unfortunate effect of firstly driving everyone up the wall with almost unbearable cabin fever (which certainly contributed to our fight) and prevented us from getting much-needed space in which to cool off afterwards. As a result, the ongoing conflict between Terra and me escalated to the point where Cid had to step in to calm things down before the blizzards were replaced with a short-lived thermonuclear heat wave, and to this end he dragged us separately into his office to see if he could get to the bottom of the row.

Cid's office was a small, rather poky little affair that he had been given during the short periods of time he was at the base. I had been here before on a couple of occasions, mainly to sit awkwardly on a rickety chair while he gave me a stern lecture about one thing or another. This time, however, his severe stare had been replaced with one of genuine concern, although from the way he was nervously drumming his fingers on the table I could tell he had no clue how to go about broaching the subject.

"So..." he began, "I understand that you and your sister are a little...stressed."

There was a long period of silence, broken only by the howl of the snow-laden wind outside the window.

"Is there...perhaps...anything that you'd like to talk about?" he tried again.

Once again, I remained silent. The professor's gaze bored into mine, and finally he gave a long, tired sigh.

"Very well, Firmament," he said eventually, "You know, I received exactly the same response from your sister. You two can be far too proud for your own good."

"We are _not!_" I flared up suddenly, before correcting myself with, "Well...I'm totally not, anyway."

"Oh?" Cid smiled faintly, "If that's the case, then I'm sure you won't mind apologising to her. We'll be able to put this whole sordid chapter behind us and-"

"_Me_? Apologise to _her_?" I laughed shortly, "Do you know what she's done?"

"Well, she-"

"-decided that Imperial Intelligence wasn't right for me? Went behind my back and talked to the Sentinels about selecting me for their cadet training program? She just can't handle the fact that Imperial Intelligence chose me over her!"

"I think there may well be an element of that, yes," Cid said, after a short pause, "Heaven knows Terra is a very competitive young woman. Still, I don't believe that jealousy is the only reason for her actions."

"Oh yeah?"

"Your sister is worried about you," he said, gravely, "Very worried, in fact."

"...yeah?"

"Firma, listen to me," Cid was clearly aware that he was starting to lose his audience, "I have to spend a lot of time with people from Imperial Intelligence, and I can assure you that they are _not_ pleasant individuals. I have to ask; what do you hope to get out of Imperial Intelligence?"

"What?"

"Why are you so interested in working for them? Are you not happy in the Air Force?"

"Well...I..." I smiled crookedly, "You have to admit, they're kind of dark and mysterious. The girls love 'em."

"I beg your pardon?" Cid looked genuinely surprised, "You want to stay in intelligence in order to get girls?"

"I'm sixteen."

"Very true," he agreed, "But...is that it?"

"Well..." I slumped down in the rickety chair, "I'm a failure, Cid, even _with_ my magic. I'm just no good at...well, _anything_. I was hoping that, y'know, joining Imperial Intelligence would toughen me up, or something; make me into someone like...like Magnus, y'know."

"And would you like to be like Private Ironsides?"

"Yes! No...I don't know!" I spread my hands helplessly, "It's just...what's the point of a Mage Knight who's no good at being a soldier?"

"Oh, I think I understand," the professor smiled easily, "Listed, Firma, I know how frustrating it is to struggle fruitlessly while your peers seem to just breeze through everything. When I was young, I wanted to be a chemist so badly...and all it got me was years of struggling and self-loathing while my friends breezed their way through one module after another..." he shrugged, "Eventually, I transferred to physics and realised that that was what I _really_ wanted, and everything seemed to fall into place."

"That's very nice," I said tartly, "What's your point?"

"My point is that maybe you should stop struggling and try something new," he sighed, "When I look at you, I don't see a soldier or an Intelligence operative. I see a kind, gentle young man who tries to conceal that fact behind a smokescreen of irritation and rather bad sarcasm. I think your sister saw that you were struggling and tried to...help, in her own way."

"Oh, yeah?" I said, with just a trace of sarcasm, "I bet you wouldn't be so understanding if it had been_ your_ life she'd tried to upend."

"I agree, her methods were wrong," Cid took a long, deep breath, "But I have to say that I agree with her."

"_What?_"

"Maybe the Sentinels wouldn't be such a bad place for you," he pressed, "You have a tremendous gift for healing magic, and I think they'd match your temperament far better-"

"You're suggesting that I should just accept that Terra went behind my back and _go_ with it?"

"I'm not saying that what she did was right, Firma!" Cid slammed a hand down on his desk, shocking me into silence, "But I think her heart was in the right place. You may not be happy to hear this, but I've...taken the liberty of discussing the matter with Master Sentinel Peron here on base. From what he says, the prospect of you joining the Sentinels has some senior members of their order very interested."

"Is that an order?" I had to admit, I was _not_ particularly happy to hear that Cid was taking Terra's side.

"No," he said, "But I would like you to at least consider it."

"Does Anceleti know?"

"_Major_ Anceleti is aware of a great deal that goes on in this base, through various means," Cid said, "In my various discussions with him, he has raised a number of objections to your posting in Intelligence, although that is probably due to his own unfavourable experiences with them. I'm sure that he would strongly support any transfer that would take you out from under their wing."

"...okay, I'll think about it," I said, grudgingly, "Are we done here?"

"I suppose we are," he said, "And Firma? Please try and talk to Terra. I know that she can be frustrating to deal with at times, but I also know that she loves you very much."

"Yeah? Well, she's never said it," I muttered rebelliously.

"I'd be surprised if she's realised it herself," Cid smiled another brief smile, "But still, this...rift between you is causing her a great deal of pain."

"Okay, okay - fine, I'll try and talk to her," I said irritably, "Is that everything?"

"I suppose I should also remind you to turn up to your next Magical Studies class, but there's a fair chance you'll just ignore me," Cid said, and gave me a severe look, "Will you talk to Peron?"

"I said I'll think about it," I said, and slouched out of the office, slamming the door behind me.

The wind hadn't let up by the time I got outside, and I trudged through the swirling snowdrifts with my hood up, thinking dark, rebellious thoughts as I struggled back to the comparative warmth of my room. The Sentinels! A bunch of crazies worshipping some long-dead goddess, only good for the people who were too cowardly or too weak to be _actual_ soldiers! _Real_ men stood shoulder to shoulder with their comrades on the front lines, not miles behind in some nice cool tent! Still...it _had _been Sentinels who had tried to save Elli, and Cid was right; I _did_ have a knack for healing magic. Maybe I would be better off with them, but that would mean admitting that I wasn't strong enough to be part of Imperial Intelligence. It would also mean that I was too weak to be a _real_ soldier in the Imperial Army.

I shook my head and strode onwards through the snow. No, damnit! I had been hand-picked to join Imperial Intelligence, and that meant that I _had_ to be strong enough to be with them! Terra was just jealous! I was going to see this through to the end, and I'd show them all _who_ was the genuine article around here!

Lost in my thoughts, I was far too preoccupied to notice the steadily-closing ring of shadows emerging out of the snow-drifts around me, and the first warning I had that anything was wrong was when a cloth, soaked with a sweet-smelling substance, was clamped tightly across my mouth and nose. Caught off guard, I bit my assailant's hand as hard as I could and followed up with an electrical discharge powerful enough to bring him to his knees. As I turned to confront him, I was struck across the back of the head and wrestled to the ground by another attacker. Almost frozen with panic, I struggled futilely, but was rewarded with another wallop and then a sharp prick at the side of my neck. A moment later, a chilling, deadening sensation began spreading through my muscles, and then everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying on a hard metal floor. My head throbbed and waves of nausea crashed over me, made worse by the bright, unfriendly light that was stabbing through my eyelids. Despite the pain, my mind raced; how long had I been out? How far was I from IAF Wareydon? What the _hell_ was going on?

Well, I could start with the basics; I was obviously lying on a metal floor; ridged, too, from the feeling under my fingertips. That meant that whoever wanted me here wasn't overly concerned about my comfort, which in itself was not particularly promising. Even less promising was the fact that they had managed to sedate me, which meant that they had used one of the few knockout drugs I was vulnerable to. _That_, in turn, meant that they were either insanely lucky or had access to some pretty private information. Given the situation, I was definitely more inclined to believe the latter.

Still, I wasn't tied down. That was a bright spot, although it _could_ just mean that they knew that my magic wasn't going to be sufficient to get me out of whatever pickle I was in. Still-

The sudden, burbling whimper of a man in pain derailed my thought process. A moment later, a door banged open by my head and admitted a pair of male voices, who were conversing so quietly that I had to strain to hear.

"I trust he will recover?" one of the voices said, and my heart gave a little leap. It was Agent Gagnon! Clearly, Imperial Intelligence had gotten wind of my kidnapping and had saved me...before dumping my unconscious body on a hard metal floor and leaving me to recover? I had to admit, something about that didn't quite fit.

"He's fine, sir. Minor burns, but he'll heal. Mad as all 'eck, though."

"He knows what Operative Branford is capable of. Perhaps next time he'll be more careful."

My heart plummeted as quickly as it had risen. Not only had Imperial Intelligence _not_ come to my aid, they'd been the ones who had sedated me and spirited me off to god only knows where. That made..._more_ sense, admittedly, although their actual reason for doing it still eluded me.

"Yes sir," there was a pause, and then, "Are...are you totally sure that this is _wise_, sir? I mean, he's only a kid!"

"Perhaps not," said Gagnon, "But we have orders from the General. Besides, if you'll recall he's not the youngest we've tested, and she - oh, _do_ be quiet!" this was apparently directed at the whimpering man, and was followed by what sounded like a vicious blow to his stomach. He wailed, and I felt my eyes tearing up in sympathy.

What _was_ going on here? Gagnon mentioned being tested, but then...what was the purpose of the man? What was going on here? There was nothing for it; I opened my eyes, and found myself lying on the floor of a small, windowless room, lit by a single fluorescent light ensconced in the ceiling. From my position, I could see that the walls and ceiling were covered by strange foam spikes for an unknown reason. Twisting my head, I saw that the room contained two tables, one that appeared to be covered in a white table cloth, and the other-

"Ah, he's awake," Gagnon said. A pair of boots appeared in my vision, and I was hauled roughly to my feet, "Good evening, Operative Branford; how do you feel?"

Now I was standing, I could see that there was an array of glittering metal implements laid out across the table cloth, although their presence and combination was confusing. As far as I could tell, some of them seemed to be surgical instruments, while others I had last seen wielded by the dentist. Still others had no purpose that I could divine, but their strange, twisted designs sent a chill running down my spine.

"I asked you a _question_, Operative Branford," as always, the threat of violence was just lurking beneath the surface, "How do you feel?"

I felt like hell, but I wasn't about to admit that under the circumstances, "Well, sir, I _am_ a little confused...about the kidnapping and all?"

"Yes, I rather thought you would be," he sounded amused, "It is...traditional, in our organisation, to 'kidnap' an operative who has reached a certain level and administer a test to see if he is truly capable of joining our ranks."

"A test?" I asked nervously, "What kind of t-"

The rest of that sentence lodged in my throat as I caught sight of the whimpering man. Whatever had happened to him, it had been truly awful. He had been stripped to the waist, and was covered in ugly blue-black blotches, angry red burn marks, and several long, weeping cuts that ran almost from shoulder to stomach. His mouth fell open in another pained gasp, and through the blood I could see that his teeth had been smashed to pieces.

"Oh gods..." I said, quickly coming to his side. _Now_ I understood; this man was one of their deep-cover operatives, and my test was to treat his injuries without his cover being blown! "It's okay...I can help him, sir."

"Eh?" the other man, whose presence had barely registered in my mind, grabbed my shoulder and spun me round to face him, "What d'ya mean, help him?"

"Well, look!" I said, shaking off his grip. Why _had_ they kidnapped me then, if not to heal him? "He needs _medical_ attention!"

"And medical attention he shall receive," said Gagnon smoothly, "Now that he has favoured us with the location of the bombs he and his dissident friends have planted in Vector."

"But...look at those wounds, sir!" I pressed.

"None of them are fatal, I assure you," he said, and smiled the single most terrifying little smile I had ever seen, "Inconvenient, certainly, but not fatal."

"But how can you...oh," finally, the penny dropped, "Oh no...no! You didn't! You _couldn't_ have!"

"What did you think was going on here, Sparky?" said the other man, roughly, "You'd think we'd invite a bomber in for a cup o' tea and a nice little chat?"

"But this is against the law!" I protested, "You _can't_ be doing this?"

"Operative Branford," Gagnon said dangerously, "I believe that you'll find that here, in this little soundproofed chamber, that we _are_ the law. And, I might point out, you are too."

"Huh?"

"We've taken this particular case about as far as we feel is necessary," he said, "However, our commanding officer feels that this would be an excellent time for you to demonstrate how your...abilities can be used to truly serve the Empire."

"But if you've already know where the bombs are, then there's nothing more you need! He should be in a hospital!"

"Oh, but I _want_ more," Gagnon was suddenly far too close for my liking, and his eyes _burned_, "I want to know if he has a mother, or a father, or a brother, or a sister. I want to know where they live, Operative Branford. I want to know who _their_ children are and where they go to school. I want to what pets they keep, what their favourite flowers are, their allergies, their fears, all their little annoying quirks. I want to know it _all_, Branford, and you are going to _make_ him tell me or I will make an example out of you that will never, _ever_ be forgotten!"

With that, I was thrown in front of the badly wounded man, who looked up at me with pleading in his swollen eyes. Gently, I took his hand in my own and fought a sudden urge to vomit as his injuries poured into my mind. Gagnon had left no bone unturned in his almost clinical hunt for the truth, and I could feel every sliced tendon and shattered joint as if it were my own. Overwhelmed, I gasped and staggered back into the unkind hands of Gagnon's number two.

"C'mon, Sparky!" he whispered into my ear, "Jus' a little more and this canary'll be ready to sing! We've hooked him-" he added, and pushed me back over their victim, "-now land him!"

What could I do? Agent Gagnon and...the other man were right at my shoulders, and there were probably god only knows how many others waiting beyond the door. All I had to do was to get this man to talk a little and I'd be free! I'd have proven to everyone that I _was_ fit to be in Imperial Intelligence! Suddenly, however, that didn't seem like such an attractive goal. Standing here, over this bloodied, beaten man, all I could think was that this was a line that I couldn't afford to cross. More than ever, I began to wonder what it was that they had ever seen in me.

"Well, Operative Branford?" Gagnon's voice stole into my thoughts. While it was pleasant enough, I had no doubt that given half a chance he'd be at my throat once again, "Perhaps you'd like to show us what a Mage Knight can accomplish?"

This wasn't right! I _knew_ this wasn't right...but what could I do? I could always spit in Gagnon's face and go get help for this poor man, but then...what would they do to me? What would they do to me if I didn't do anything? I felt boxed in, forced to choose between a brave, but probably useless gesture and a cowardly, horrific act that would at least mean I saw tomorrow. Slowly, I reached out and took the man's hand once again, trying to get a sense of the full extent of his injuries.

"_Branford_."

"Don't rush me," I said quietly. Now I could really _feel_ the extent of his injuries, I felt a surge of raw, cold anger well up from deep inside me, burning away the fear of the heavy-set man and my thin-lipped, psychotic instructor. Between them, they had taken this man off the street and done..._this_...to him with all the cool, clinical skill of a medical examiner. From the sense of it, it had probably taken them several days to do it, too. How dare they! How _dare_ they do this to another human being?

"This man has suffered enough," I said eventually.

"I beg your pardon, Branford?" Gagnon said, coldly.

"I said, this man has suffered enough," I repeated, almost perfectly matching Gagnon's tone. I wasn't afraid anymore; I was far, _far_ too angry for that, "So here's what I'm going to do; I'm going to take him to the base hospital, and then I'm going to alert the local authorities about this operation of yours."

"Is that so?" from the tone of Gagnon's voice, it sounded like he almost couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"It is," I said, turning to face them. Mentally, I was already getting a solid grip on a number of choice items inside the room, "And you are going to _let_ me do it, or I will make an example out of _you_ that will never, _ever_ be forgotten. _Nobody_ touches him, not unless I say they can."

There was a short pause, and then Gagnon shrugged and said, "A pity."

With that, Gagnon's heavy lunged towards me, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand. I was ready, however, and in a flash the white tablecloth had whipped itself off the table, wrapped tightly around his head and arm, and slammed them into the wall with bone-cracking force. There was a terrible silence, and then the cocooned man slumped limply to the floor. Gagnon was already backing away, desperately trying to clear his pistol from its holster as I stalked towards him.

"Very...very impressive, Branford," he said, and there was a nasty 'cl-clack' as he cocked the firearm, "He was one of my best men."

"I only broke his arm," I said, coolly, "Considering what you two've done to that man, I'd say he got off comparatively lightly."

"How...precise," Gagnon's lips quirked, ever so slightly, "But _why_, Branford? Why did you choose this man - a proven terrorist, I might add - over your fellow intelligence operatives?"

"Why? _Why?_ Just _look_ at him!" I hissed, and for a moment thought I would lose control entirely, "You know...I thought that Imperial Intelligence was some kind of cool organisation where you defused bombs, saved really, _really_ pretty women and swapped one-liners with mad scientists before kicking them in the shark tank! This..." I waved a crackling hand in the direction of the tortured man, "is a godsdamned_ abomination_."

"It is _necessary_, Branford," Gagnon said, with impressive calm, "This man was going to kill countless innocent people! We had to act!"

"For something so urgent you sure took your bloody time over it, _sir_," I said icily, "Some of those injuries are days old. Did you get what you were looking for and then just keep going for the hell of it?"

"We-"

"I don't _care_ what your answer is," I said, and took a long, deep breath, "I know what people say about me, y'know, and I know that I'm never going to be a great soldier or a commander or an assassin, but what I _do_ know is that there is no chance in _hell_ that I'm going to stand by idly while you and your friend over there get your jollies out of hurting the defenceless, no matter what you think they might've done!"

"A noble sentiment," Gagnon sneered, "And if I were a Sentinel, I might be impressed. However-"

He fired twice, and I felt rather than heard the gun's retort as it sent two bullets singing towards me. The first shot went wide of its mark, while the second impacted my shields and immediately disintegrated into a spray of red-hot shrapnel that cut painfully into my face. Half-blinded with pain, I lashed out and struck him across the face with a fist crackling with barely contained magic. There was a crack of discharging electricity, and the pungent stench of burned flesh filled the air. Gagnon screamed, and as I wiped the blood from my eyes I could see why; my uncontrolled blast had reduced half his face to a charred, bloodied mess, and even as I watched his fingers began to quest tentatively towards the misshapen white mass that now occupied his destroyed eye socket. Inwardly, I shrugged, and turned back to their torture victim. How in the world was I going to get him out of here, through the-gods-only-knew how many intelligence agents, without breaking him any further?

"Hold on," I said quietly, "I-"

The words caught in my throat as a long, drawn-out wail pierced the air. Looking around wildly, I spotted a small device with a blinking red light lying next to Gagnon's trembling fingers, and realised that any chance I had of escaping with their victim had evaporated the instant he'd triggered that alarm. Once again I felt the rage pouring into me, and before I really knew what I was doing I had whirled around and hauled Gagnon to his feet. There was nothing stopping me now; his heavy was unconscious and Gagnon himself looked like he barely comprehended what was going on. I could just take his gun and...and...do what?

I looked at Gagnon. His single, terrified eye looked back at me, and for a long moment we stood there while I struggled with myself. Eventually, and with more than a little regret, I let the intelligence operative sink back to the floor, where he immediately curled up, whimpering, into a protective foetal position.

"I could have killed you," I said, looking at him disdainfully, "Just...just you remember that."

With that, I opened the door and ran.

The awful, deafening hooting continued as I sprinted down the long, long corridor. From somewhere behind me, I heard a distant yell followed by the heavy clang of boots on metal. At the end of my flight there was a large, heavy steel door, which I grabbed and wrenched open with a strength borne of pure adrenaline, and felt the brutal slap of a Vectoran winter hitting me full in the face. Shocked by the cold, I staggered out into a featureless, snow-covered field just as a sharp gust of wind slammed the door shut behind me.

"They had an _underground_ complex?" I said, and laughed a nasty, rasping little laugh, "That's _so_ cliché."

Cliche or not, I was still sufficiently compos mentis to know that my situation had gone from bad to worse. It was night, it was at least ten below freezing, and I had no protection or any idea where I was. On top of that, I was sure that any moment now Intelligence operatives would come boiling out of that complex like a swarm of hornets, and after what I'd done to Gagnon and his heavy I would be lucky if they merely shot me on sight.

Scanning the darkness, I could just about make out the dark shape of a nearby forest. I would be better concealed there, and maybe I could find a burrow or something to hide from Imperial Intelligence until dawn. To be frank, I had no idea how wandering around in daylight would help my chances, but at this point I just had to be as far away from this complex as possible. Grimly, I set out across the snowfield, keenly aware of the extremely obvious footprints I was leaving in my wake.

The forest was a dark, forbidding place that looked like it had been drawn straight from a fairy tale. Tall, gnarled trees stood close together, their twisted, knotted branches blotting out the dim starlight and casting what little that could be seen in unpleasant shades of grey and black. With a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold I stepped under the canopy, my boots crunching noisily in the oppressive silence. A moment later I heard an echoing 'bang' in the middle distance. Whirling around, I could see a forest of flashlights emerging from the underground intelligence complex. After a brief moment of apparent indecision, one of them played across the large, deep furrows that I had left behind me, and in an instant, every one of them was on my trail, surging across the snowfield towards the forest.

There was nothing for it; without another backwards glance, I turned and bolted into the darkness.

The next half hour was an unpleasant one. In a state of near panic I ran through the forest, only a few minutes ahead of the dreadful searchlights. Branches and brambles ripped and tore at my clothes and skin, leaving great tears and gashes that burned in the freezing air. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to run for much longer. It was only going to be a matter of time before my more seasoned, better equipped pursuers caught up with me and...oh, _gods_...

Caught up in my momentary nightmare, I failed to spot the treacherous tree root poking out through the snow, and with a yelp I fell head over heels down a long, deep furrow, eventually sliding to a halt under the relative concealment of an overturned tree. My entire body ached in a way that I had never felt before, and as much as I tried I simply couldn't find the strength to get back up.

A few moments later, a searchlight appeared at the top of the furrow, and appeared to look around in some confusion. I watched, with my heart in my mouth, as the beam slowly played across the ground towards my general location. Any moment now he was going to spot me, and then-

"Why have you stopped?" another searchlight had joined the first, "Is there a problem, mate?"

"I've lost him. I don't bloody believe it; I've lost him!" the first searchlight said, with some annoyance, "Up 'till here he was leaving a trail that even these idiots could follow, and now? Nothing! The Monster's not going to be happy."

"He never is."

"True enough," there was a pause, and then, "Did you see what Branford did to his face? No wonder he wants him dead."

"And now you've lost him," said the other, "Don't worry, mate; I'm sure one of the other trackers will pick up the trail."

"Don't make me laugh," said the first, contemptuously, "Most of those idiots couldn't track an elephant through wet mud. He's gone to ground, alright, but he's nearby. I'm sure of it."

"Is that so?"

There was a sudden, brutally organic noise and a strangled cry cut through the chilly silence. One of the searchlights winked out, and a moment later a body came tumbling limply down the furrow and slid to a halt a short distance from me, steaming blood gushing from a hole in its neck.

"Firma?" the voice called, softly, "Firma? You can come out now; it's safe. You're safe."

I remained silent. Nobody _I_ knew was so casual about jamming knives in people's necks.

"It's me," there was a rustling of fabric, and then the voice returned with somewhat more clarity, "It's Anceleti."

"What the-" I whispered, before I could stop myself. Immediately, the flashlight flicked over to my position, and then I thought I heard an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

"Good gods, Firma," with practiced ease, Anceleti slid down the hillside and crunched over the snow towards me, "What _have _you managed to get yourself tied up in? You look atrocious."

Despite the pain, I tried to give him my best reassuring smile, but then, suddenly, I found myself dissolving into floods of tears and deep, wracking sobs as my suppressed emotions flooded to the surface. Dimly, I was aware of being helped into a sitting position by the major, who alternated between patting me awkwardly on the back and scanning the surrounding forest for any other hopeful operatives.

"Don't worry, Firma," he said, gently, "You don't have to say anything. I know all about Gagnon's little..._rituals_."

"I...I couldn't do it," I said, between sobs, "They had a man who they'd tortured and they wanted me to hurt him and...I _couldn't_...but then they attacked me...and...and..."

"It's okay," he said, as I broke down again, "From the sounds of it, you gave them exactly what they deserved."

"But...why are _you_ here?" I sniffed, wiping at my eyes, "How did you-"

"Terra begged me to come," Anceleti said, simply, "She came bursting into my office babbling incoherently about how someone had seen you being dragged off and how she was _sure_ that something terrible had happened to you. Once I'd calmed her down, it was a simple matter of putting two and two together and, well, here we are."

"Just like that."

"Indeed," he said, "She saved your life, Firma."

"So did you," I said, and took a deep, shuddering breath, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Anceleti ruffled my hair, "You know; the first time I saw you I _knew_ you'd be trouble."

I smiled, weakly, "Did you have to kill that...that..."

"Amateur?" he shook his head, "You know, if you'd pulled this stunt back in my day you'd never have gotten this far."

"Mmm," I paused, and then, "So, back in your day, did you have to..."

"Can you walk?" he said, suddenly, "I have a jeep positioned near the edge of the forest."

Slowly, and with some assistance from Anceleti, I managed to clamber to my feet. My left leg screamed for my attention, and the major caught me as it buckled.

"Easy," he said, "It's not far."

"Okay," I nodded at the crumpled operative, "What are we going to do about him?"

"Nothing," the major kicked some snow over the body, largely concealing it from view, "They can find him in the spring."

With Anceleti leading the way, we slowly crept through the forest watching carefully for the searchlights of our hunters. In the wake of my sudden, emotional outburst, I felt a detached calm descending over me. None of this could actually be _real_, I decided, as I watched myself stumble along behind the major. For a start, the cold...didn't really feel cold anymore, and the branches and brambles tearing at my skin barely registered, even though I could see my blood beading on my skin. Even the fear of being found by Imperial Intelligence had gone; who cared if they found us? I'd probably just wake up safe and sound in my bedroom...

Eventually, we emerged from the forest onto another largely featureless snowfield. Part of my brain noted, with some interest, that there was a small mound close to the forest edge that billowed and moved oddly in the wind.

"I assume that's your jee-"

"Quiet!" Anceleti snapped, and pointed back in the direction we had came. A short distance away, amongst the trees, I could see the blue-white halo of a spotlight slowly scanning towards us.

"Oh," I heard myself say, "That's problematic."

"Yeah, it is," he said, giving me an odd look.

"Would you like me to deal with him?"

"I'd rather you didn't," the look intensified, "On the other hand, if we try and leave with him still around we'll have Intelligence down on us in no time flat," he paused for a moment, and then seemed to reach a decision, "Wait here."

"Sir."

With barely a rustle, Anceleti vanished into the undergrowth. There was a long, tense moment, and then I heard a very faint, strangled cry. The searchlight went out.

"I have to say, standards have _really_ slipped at Imperial Intelligence," Anceleti whispered, as he came crawling back through the snow, "It's disgraceful, really."

"Mmm."

"How're you feeling, Firma?" he asked seriously.

"Fine."

"You've...been very quiet."

"Would you like me to be louder?"

"For now? No," Anceleti inclined his head toward the jeep, "Help me get the tarpaulin off; we're getting out of here before any of that operative's friends come looking for him."

"Very well," again, I watched as I got a good, firm mental grip on the tarpaulin. There was a spray of snow as I launched it into the air, and then folded it as it fell so it landed in my outstretched arms as a small, rectangular lump of cloth, "Shall we go, sir?"

"Yeah," Anceleti turned away, and I heard him mutter something under his breath, "Let's get out of here."

With a screech of tyres and a crunch of snow, the jeep rumbled away from the forest and the questing glare of the searchlights. For a while we bounced across the snow-covered countryside until, finally, we crested a hill and saw the light-studded expanse of IAF Wareydon spread out before us.

"Your sister's waiting for us in our hangar," Anceleti said.

"Okay," I said, and wondered idly if I was meant to be feeling anything at the moment.

"She's very worried about you," he added, clearly attempting to elicit a response.

"I know."

"I-" Anceleti began, and apparently thought better of it. Instead, he shook his head and set the jeep rolling gently down the hill towards the snow-dusted runways. In the distance, I could see the warm, welcoming light of the Blue Meteor's hangar, and somewhere inside I felt a slight flutter of hope. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived.

"Imperial Intelligence will be coming after us," I commented, "Gagnon's not going to let this go without a fight."

"I know," the major said darkly, and added, "Don't worry; we've made preparations."

"Good," I replied. As we drew closer, I could see that there were a great number of people bustling around near the entrance to the hangar, and as we drew closer still I began to get the distinct feeling that there was more than just random milling around going on here. For a start, most everyone seemed to be prominently displaying a pistol or, in a few cases, a rifle slung across their back, "What's going on?"

"Gagnon has a major weakness, although I'm not sure many people realise it," Anceleti said, "Whenever he gets _really_ angry, he tends to revert to being a schoolyard bully. When he works out where we've gone, I fully expect him to turn up here with a bunch of heavies and try to force us into handing you back over."

"I...see."

"It won't happen, Firma," he said, in what he probably meant to be a comforting tone, "You'll see...ah, there's Jade."

A figure was waving at us from just inside the hangar, and with a casual flick of the wheel Anceleti brought the jeep around and came to a halt with a sudden crunch of snow. Quietly, I disembarked and, in the absence of any orders, stepped over to join the major and his second.

"So, it looks like you were successful-" Jade paused as I stepped into the hangar, "Good heavens."

"Is everything ready, Jade?" said Anceleti briskly.

"I-yes," she said, tearing her gaze away from my impressive collection of injuries, "All our boys are here, and I managed to convince the Third and the Twelfth to join us as well. Malley and Song would like to talk to you about all this, though."

"I'm sure they do. Have you sent the runner yet?"

"No," Jade replied, and added, "Look, sir, you're asking us to take a lot on faith as it is. I wasn't going to involve anyone higher up until we knew more about what was going on."

"...fine," Anceleti sounded unhappy, but let it slide, "Anything else?"

"Um...you'll need to sign some overtime sheets. Quite a lot of overtime sheets, actually."

"Oh?"

"Well, when I said 'convince', I actually meant-"

"You bribed them?"

"More or less, sir," there was a pause and then, "Probably more rather than less, if you get my drift."

"I believe I do. Anything _else?_"

"Master Sentinel Peron arrived about fifteen minutes ago. He's waiting for you upstairs."

"He doesn't miss a trick, does he?" Anceleti's lips compressed into a fine line, "Firma, go and get your injuries checked by Peron. I'd imagine he probably wants to talk to you, too...although maybe that should wait for another time."

"Sir," I nodded shortly, "What should I do then?"

"Stay upstairs and keep your head down," he said, and squared his shoulders, "This could get ugly."

I drew an awful lot of stares as I threaded my way through the throngs of visibly armed airmen, and I heard a dark, nasty little murmur ripple across the crowd. I had no idea what Jade had told these people, or even what Anceleti had told Jade, but from the sympathetic looks and sense of righteous indignation filling the air, I got the feeling at least _some_ of them were fairly well up-to-speed on the sorts of evil, nefarious things that Imperial Intelligence was up to.

High above me I heard a sudden 'bang!' as the door to Anceleti's office was nearly thrown off its hinges, and Terra came hurtling down the stairs, taking them two at a time in a madcap dash to the bottom.

"Firma!" she cried tearfully, and caught me in a hug that almost knocked me flat, "Oh gods, Firma! I thought they were going to...I thought that..."

"It's okay, Tee," I said, a little dully, "I'm okay."

"No...no, you aren't," Terra stepped back and gave me a worried look, "Something terrible _did_ happen, didn't it? What was it? What did they do to you?"

"Easy, my dear," a rather portly man with thinning white hair was slowly descending the stairs from Anceleti's office, "Your brother's had a rough night."

"But-"

"He needs rest, Terra. Surely you can see the poor lad's in shock, now," the man, who I decided had to be Master Sentinel Peron, "Everything will be alright, lad. You're safe now."

"Is that so?" I said, looking meaningfully at the small army assembling in the hangar, "Anceleti clearly doesn't think so."

"Which is why he's made preparations, lad," said Peron, "Now, I think it would be a good idea for us three to step up to the office and have a nice cup of tea. What do you say, eh?"

"I...suppose."

"Grand," he smiled broadly, "If you don't mind me saying so, you look like you've been in the wars. I should probably have a look at some of your injuries."

"I'll heal," I said, a little brusquely.

"That's what Professor Chere tells me, certainly," he said, "It seems to me, however, that when the dust settles you're going to want to have an independent record of what happened to you tonight."

"Why?"

"You'll see, lad. You'll see."

Despite my best efforts I was unable to stop Terra from half-pushing, half-carrying me up the rather shaky metal stairs to Anceleti's office. Once inside, I flopped down gratefully on one of the cheap folding chairs while she stood and fidgeted anxiously by the window. Despite her nervousness, I felt my muscles begin to unwind. In here, the hubbub of preparation was muted and far away, and the cups clinking and teabags rustling as Peron made tea seemed refreshingly dull.

"Oh, blow," the Sentinel said, eventually, "It looks like we're out of milk. Terra, could you be a dear and get me some out of the fridge downstairs? I believe Jade said she had some we could borrow."

"Right! I'll be right back!" Terra blurted out, and was gone in a flash. The Sentinel watched her go, and then turned to me with a wide grin.

"She'll be a little while, I expect," he said, "Now, I believe we weren't properly introduced; I'm Master Sentinel Peron."

"I guessed you were, sir," I said, and shook the proffered hand, "I'm-"

"I know who you are, lad," he snorted, "I suspect everyone in the Empire knows who you are. Now, the reason why I wanted to talk to you on your own was because of...discussions that I have been having with Professor Chere."

"Yes, I know," I said, with a hint of irritation, "You all want me to join the Sentinels."

"Actually, that couldn't be further from the truth," Peron leaned back, "Personally, I think you're too young to be joining the Sentinels, or any organisation for that matter. However, it looks like I've been...overruled."

"Excuse me?"

"It's all politics, lad," he continued, "When Imperial Intelligence got a hold of you, all the papers were goin' on about how we was going to have super-powered magical assassins cutting huge, bloody swathes through all those terrorist groups. I think the Father Superior would quite like to get some of that publicity for the Sentinels. Recruitment levels have been down, you see."

"So you want me as a...a publicity stunt?"

"_I_ want you to have another couple of years to decide what you want to do with your life, but it seems like neither you or your sister are going to get that chance," he shook his head, a little sadly, "The Sentinel trainee program isn't easy, Firmament, especially for someone as young as you. I'm not sure you'd be any happier with us than with anyone else."

"You'd prefer it if I refuse?"

"When all this is over, I'd like you to give it some deep, serious thought. I want you to be entirely certain of what you're getting yourself into this time, Now, let me take a few notes about all these cuts and scrapes of yours..." his gaze shifted slightly, "That was fast, Terra; did you manage to find some milk?"

"N-no," Terra said, and from the tone of her voice I immediately knew something was wrong, "Jade sent me back up here. She says that there're some men wearing black gathering outside."

"Well then," said Peron, perhaps a little sadly, "It looks like your commander was right, Firmament."

"It seems so," I said, and tried to clamp down on the sense of rising terror, "Are they armed?"

"Yeah," said Terra, "Or at least Jade said they were."

"Should we go and help them?"

"What would you do, Firmament?" Peron asked, quite seriously, "Are you going to give yourself up?"

"No!" I said, surprising myself at the forcefulness of my statement, "I'm _never-_"

"Then stay here, lad," he said, apparently unconcerned by my outburst, "Your presence down there would only make things worse. Best to sit this one out, I think."

He was right, of course; going down there would probably prompt an all-out firefight, especially if Gagnon had recovered enough to take revenge personally. Still, it chafed a little to stay up here and watch through the grimy window as the squad of beefy, heavily-armed men strode confidently into the cluttered hangar, weapons clearly cocked and ready to use. All around them, the airmen melted away into the shadows, clearly intimidated by the show of force and the cold-blooded willingness to use it. Only Anceleti remained, apparently totally unconcerned by the sudden arrival of this group of men or the mass desertion of his own force.

"Gagnon," he said convivially, as the lead operative approached, "It's been a while. Can I just say how much I like the eyepatch? Very intimidating."

"Where is he, Anceleti?" Gagnon growled, "Where is that blasted Mage Knight?"

"I assume by 'that blasted Mage Knight' you mean 'Cadet Branford', yes?" Anceleti reclined against one of the sky-jets, "I haven't seen him."

"Is that so? He's your cadet."

"He's also _your_ cadet, Gagnon," said the major, "I have to admit, I'm curious why you're searching for him with a full complement of operatives. I _do_ hope he hasn't done anything too drastic."

"He took my _eye_, you bastard!" Gagnon snarled, and lifted the eyepatch for just a moment. Anceleti winced.

"My word, that _does_ look bad," he said, without much sympathy, "But that doesn't sound very much like the Branford I know. Whatever did you do to- oh, of _course_," he snapped his fingers; "You decided to try your little ritual out on him, didn't you. Get him to commit a little atrocity, and then he's all yours, right?"

Beside me, Terra gasped.

"We-"

"Don't bother saying anything, Gagnon, it's no real secret what you and your henchmen get up to in your little underground base- ah!" Anceleti held up a hand as one of Gagnon's goons raised his gun, "I don't think you'll be wanting to do that in here, my friend. You're not exactly on home turf."

The operative looked at his fellow men, and then, slowly, lowered his weapon.

"Much better," said the major approvingly, "Now, Gagnon, I'm still a little bit confused as to _why_ that would lead to you losing an eye, unless...he _refused_ to play your little game. If he had, well, we all know what happens to operatives who don't play along with _your_ rules, don't we!"

An angry murmur rippled through the shadows behind the sky-jets, and suddenly Gagnon's men seemed far less at ease.

"I don't know!" Terra whispered, "_What_ happens?"

"They die," I said, hollowly.

"Bit off more then you could chew, eh?" Anceleti continued in the same conversational tone, "That's the thing about those Mage Knights; they seem totally harmless until they aren't, and when they aren't, well, you'd better hope that you're not the one they're mad at. You're lucky to escape with just your eye missing, mate. He could've killed you. Truth be told, I think there's a lot of people who'd view that as a bit of a missed opportunity."

"Enough, Anceleti!" Gagnon snarled, "Where is he?"

"No idea," said Anceleti, cheerfully, "Why are you so sure he's here?"

"We lost him in the forest, along with two of our men," Gagnon glowered at the major, "Still, there's no way he could have slipped through our net. Not without help."

"Is that so?"

"He's just a boy!"

"A boy who took your eye, escaped your compound, killed three of your trackers and escaped into the night," Anceleti shrugged, "If anything, you should be proud of him."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Gagnon chuckled quietly. It was not a pleasant noise.

"_Three_ of our trackers? However did you know that, Anceleti?"

"I- well, damn," the major, at least, had the good graces to look embarrassed, "That was stupid of me."

"I knew it," Gagnon growled, "No more playing around, major; _where_ is Branford?"

"Around," Anceleti said, "But as far as you're concerned, he may as well be on the dark side of the moon, 'cause there's no way I'm going to let you leave IAF Wareydon with him."

"He killed three of my men!"

"Actually, _I_ killed three of your men," said the major, "Or rather, I killed three unidentifiable, heavily armed individuals who were themselves attempting to kill a cadet under my command. Between you and me, Gagnon, I have to admit that if those _were_ your men I'm a little disappointed in your current training methods. I think a review is probably in order."

"How _dare_ you!" Gagnon gestured, and the operatives behind him took aim, "I'll-"

Suddenly, the hangar was plunged into darkness, and then with a flare of light four spotlights came to life, producing a narrow circle of light barely large enough to accommodate Gagnon and his team of operatives. Anceleti was nowhere to be seen.

"You'll do what, precisely?" the major's voice could have come from anywhere in the darkness, really, "Incidentally, I would advise against any of your men leaving that circle. If they do, well-" the sounds of weapons being cocked was deafening, "-it might be unpleasant for the rest of you."

"Your men couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, Anceleti!"

"I'll admit, some of them could probably spend more time at the range," said Anceleti, "Still, I'm sure that even the worst of them could hit a clearly illuminated target over a distance of about ten meters. Feel free to try your luck, though; I'm sure that my men would be happy to accommodate you."

"This is _madness_!"

"No, Gagnon, it isn't. Would you like me to tell you what _is_ madness?" the major's voice was cold, deadly, "Madness is plucking a sixteen year old IAF cadet out of the snow and trying to force him to commit atrocities under pain of death, and then _admitting_ this inside a hangar full of airmen. Firmament is one of us, and nobody here worth their wings is going to stand idly by while you drag him off to one of your little torture chambers."

"You're not going to get away with this, Anceleti!"

"Oh, _good_, I was wondering if you were going to say that," Anceleti laughed nastily, "You see, the way I think this happened is that a bunch of heavily-armed thugs gate-crashed our late-night inter-wing meet up. Of course, they couldn't _possibly_ be part of Imperial Intelligence 'cause they're on our side, so they couldn't be trying to shoot up an IAF hangar, would they? No, they must be one of those insurgent groups that our brave intelligence operatives keep trying to warn us about. Still, I'm sure we'll all be very sorry when your corpses are identified, but hey, it wasn't _us_ who charged in here pointing guns every which way.

There was a long silence, and then, in the distance, I thought I could hear the faint wail of approaching sirens.

"Of course, there _is_ another way out," Anceleti remarked, "I took the liberty of sending someone to alert the brass about you and your little posse. All you have to do is stand right there until they take you into custody, and I'm sure that you'll be able to straighten everything out with the base commander. It might be a bit embarrassing, but hey, you'll be alive, right?"

"I-"

"Just throw down your weapons if you're ready to surrender. I made certain that they know that you're armed, so they'll probably be responding in force. You wouldn't want any of your boys to get shot by _accident_, would you?"

There was another pause, and then a clearly reluctant Gagnon gestured to his men. Slowly, and almost unbelievingly, they slowly lowered placed their guns on the floor and kicked them away.

"And the rest of them, Gagnon," the major sighed, "Come on, I wasn't born yesterday."

With a clatter, a small pile of pistols, knives, and other, more esoteric weaponry joined the rifles at the edge of the light.

"This isn't over, major," Gagnon spat, "Nobody embarrasses Imperial Intelligence like this and just walks away, you know."

"Oh, I _know_," Anceleti almost sounded like he was enjoying this, "I can't imagine what your superiors are going to think of you once they hear you got outgunned and outwitted by a bunch of IAF airmen. Very embarrassing, wouldn't you say?"

Whatever Gagnon's reply was, it was lost in the screech of wheels from outside. There was the distant slamming of doors, and then a host of heavily-armed, heavily-armoured military police poured screaming into the hangar, surrounding the beleaguered intelligence operatives and forcing them to the floor with barely comprehensible orders and a few well-placed rifle butts. Within a few moments, it was all over.

"Very cunning," Peron remarked, stepping away from the window, "Your commanding officer has a sharp mind, lad."

"I know. I should probably go and kiss his feet, or something," I said.

"Later, maybe," said the Sentinel, "I think he'll have his hands full for a little while dealing with this mess. Leave him be for now."

"If you say so," I sighed wearily, and sank back down onto the rickety chair, "Well, Tee? It looks like you were right about Imperial Intelligence, like usual."

"Maybe," Terra smiled, ever so slightly, "There are more important things than being _right_, though."

"Huh?" I frowned, "That doesn't sound like you. That doesn't sound like you _at all_. Did Cid tell you to say that?"

"He may have pointed it out to me," my sister paused, and then rushed on, "Firma, I'm so sorry! I...it was arrogant of me to try to organise your life for you, and I _knew_ it was wrong, but I...I couldn't back down. I should've done, but I didn't. I just couldn't stand the thought that-"

"It's okay, Tee."

"No, it's not! I'm..." Terra stopped, and shook her head, "I'm doing it again, aren't I."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"Oh, stop apologising!" I said, "You weren't the only one being arrogant and prideful, Tee. I wasn't behaving any better then you were, and _you_ at least were right. I'm not cut out to be part of Imperial Intelligence."

"I know," she said, and patted me on the shoulder, "You may be a jerk from time to time, but they're _bastards_. I hope that the commander puts 'em through the ringer."

"If he doesn't, I'm sure Gagnon's superiors will," I replied, "Anceleti's right; they _don't _like being embarrassed."

There was a long silence.

"Um...Firma?" Terra said, a little tentatively, "Do you...um...want to talk about tonight?"

"Not now, Tee," I said, and ran my fingers through my hair, "All I want to do now is go home and get some sleep."

"Well, you know my door's always open," she said, "I mean, it's always open 'cause I still haven't managed to get the lock fixed, but, um, I-"

"I get the picture, Tee," I smiled, "Thanks."

"No problem. I'm going to see if I can get someone to give you a lift back to your quarters," Terra moved towards the door, but then turned back to face me, "Oh, and Firma?"

"Mmm?"

"I've always been proud of you. You know that, right?"

"R-really?" I blinked. Like most of Terra's comments, that one came straight out of nowhere, and in my current, rather fragile emotional state, it was all I could do to avoid breaking down in tears on the spot.

"Yeah. I'm not worried about what you're going to do, either, 'cause I know that whatever you do, and wherever you go, I'll always be proud of you."


	29. Chapter 10: Hurricane Vargas

**Chapter 10 - Hurricane Vargas**

Alright, so that just about covers the events surrounding my exciting departure from Imperial Intelligence. Naturally, it's rather heavily abridged, but to be honest if I went into any depth about the political fallout arising from that situation I'd probably bore you to the point where you'd lose the will to live. This is meant to be 'Firmament Branford and the Increasingly Unlikely Series of Events', not 'Firmament Branford and the Curious Case of the Mass Suicide Attempt', after all; tedious legal wrangling is for thems who can enjoy it.

On the other hand, if you _are_ the sort of person who enjoys things like 'tedious legal wrangling' (i.e. you're a really _fun_ person to talk to at parties) then I know for a fact that Celes has a copy of that particular case in her library, and for a reasonable fee I'm sure she can even be persuaded to dig it out and decipher the legalese for you. Of course, by 'reasonable fee' I mean 'be prepared to remortgage your house', but I'm sure you'll understand that I'm not all _that_ interested in helping you dig the skeletons out of my closet.

Incidentally, Celes, if someone _does_ come knocking, I demand a ten percent commission. Don't tell me that I don't ever do anything for you.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the combination of emergency chest surgery and an exciting, climatic rooftop showdown had managed to thoroughly exhaust me, and I was out like a light the instant my head touched the pillow. Thankfully, there were no nightmares, and I slept well right up to the point that Terra's boot came arcing through the air and slammed into my kidney with eye-watering force.

"Good morning, Firma!" she said, as I slowly curled up into a ball of pain, "Up and at 'em! The early bird gets the worm! Carpe diem! Strike while the- um, Locke? I can't quite make this one out...-"

"It's okay, Tee," I said irritably,, "If its all the same to you, I think we'll just forego the motivational phrases."

"Are you sure?" she looked a little confused, "Locke said that they'd give you a bit more get up and go - a bit more _joie de vivre_, he said."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yes! He said that it would help...make the morning...fun..."from Terra's expression, it was clear that the penny had just dropped, "Damnit, _Locke!_"

"What?" Locke's twang echoed from the other side of the room, "You got 'im up, didn't you? Can't have him sleepin' the day away."

"I don't see why not," I muttered, as I swung my legs out of the bed, "A day in bed sounds like a fantastic idea, actually."

"There's a storm comin', pal," Locke pointed out, "I think it'd be best for all of us to be well away from South Figaro before it hits."

"Oh, I know _that_," I said, "I _was_ there when Kefka set Castle Figaro on fire, y'know."

"No, Firma, I mean an actual storm," he said, patiently, "You know, with lightning and stuff. It's supposed to be a big one, too."

"Oh? How big?"

"Weeelll..." Locke scratched at his ear, "From what the radio was saying, they're calling it 'Hurricane Esme', so I'm thinkin' pretty large, yeah."

"And you think it's safe to be setting out into the great unknown with a hurricane snapping at our heels?" I frowned, "That's suicide!"

"So's being trapped in South Figaro with the best and brightest of Imperial Intelligence," he said, "'Sides, I know exactly where I'm going."

"Oh, _goody_," I sighed, and began wearily lacing up my boots, "When do we leave, then?"

"Edgar's saddling the chocobos now," Terra said, a little sullenly, "As soon as Locke's finished making breakfast, we'll be heading out."

"Oh?" I brightened, "What's for breakfast?"

"Nothin' amazing," said Locke, "Bread, cheese - y'know, stuff to keep you going on the road. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

"Fantastic," I said, coming quickly to my feet, "I think that in the interim I'll go and have a little chat with Connor. It's time to reestablish a few ground rules."

As it turned out, the chocobos had been sequestered in a small stable that had been disguised as a perfectly ordinary townhouse, and which was directly connected to the safe house by means of a short underground tunnel. Edgar was inside, loading some of the heavy bags that we had retrieved onto the back of Alexander along with a few other sacks that, I assumed, contained equipment that was considered vital for the journey.

"Mornin', your Majesty," I said. Edgar gave me a rather strained smile.

"Good morning, Firma," he said, lifting another bag with a grunt of effort, "I didn't think you'd be up yet."

"Neither did I," I said irritably, "I also didn't think you'd be exerting yourself quite so soon. You _were_ shot in the chest, after all."

"Believe me, nobody knows that better than I," he said, his fingers going almost unconsciously to his sternum, "But then, you weren't awake, Locke has a knack for getting out of anything physical and I can't very well ask Terra..."

"Terra carried three of those bags halfway across South Figaro, Edgar," I pointed out, "I'll bet she carried them in here, too."

"Yes, but-"

"Isn't swallowing your pride and asking her for help better than herniating yourself?"

"I...suppose," he conceded, and then smiled a wry little smile, "Hold on, Firma; are you_ lecturing_ me?"

"Maybe," I considered this for a moment, "It's also possible that I don't want to have spent all that valuable magic treating a bullet to the lung only for you to do yourself a mischief in the pursuit of pointless chivalry."

"Okay, Firma, you've made your point; I'll go and get your sister," Edgar held up his hands in supplication, "In the meantime, see if you can get Connor out of his stable. He seems a little irritable this morning."

"More so than usual?"

"He tried to take my hand off when I went to open his pen."

"Lovely," I sighed, "What do you expect me to do, exactly? I'm not exactly a bird whisperer."

"He let you ride him once."

"And he abandoned me at the first bloody opportunity!"

"Yes, but he's just a chocobo. You, on the other hand, are not," Edgar clapped me on the shoulder, "I'm sure you'll think of something."

The king left, leaving an air of distinct amusement in his wake. I knew what he expected to happen, of course, and I was reasonably sure that my immediate future involved being spread very thinly across Connor's stable. Still, Edgar was right; the bird _was _letting me ride him despite all the hisses and attempted maulings, and that meant that he had to respect me on at least some level, right?

"Right?" I said aloud. Alexander, who had been looking at me curiously, gave a long, low warble that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and turned away.

"Yeah, I know," I sighed. Squaring my shoulders, I strode over Connor's pen, trying my best to exude an atmosphere of confidence and determination. As I approached the chocobo raised his head and fixed me with an expression that was half disdain, half 'I would love to rip your head off, but quite frankly you're not worth the calories'. Clearly, I had some work to do.

"Mornin', Connor," I began convivially, being careful to stay out of range of that enormous snapping beak, "Having a bit of trouble getting up, are we? Edgar says you're being irritable."

The chocobo snorted, and made a show of picking something small and extremely insignificant out of its feathers. Undaunted, I plunged onwards.

"It's okay; I get it," I said, "You're angry that I dragged you out of your nice warm pen and into the crosshairs of a Golem and, okay, maybe I _shouldn't_ have said I was going to render you down for glue, but it _was _a high-stress situation, you know! People get irritated, and...say...things..." I floundered a bit against the wall of silence, and then caught sight of the half-open seed bin,, "Ah! I know what you'll like!"

Connor idly craned his neck to follow me as I dashed across to the bin and filled my hands with the contents, before spilling half of it across the stable on the return trip. Around me, the chocobos came to life with happy 'warks' as they immediately set upon the unexpected treat.

"See? Seeds! You like seeds, don't you!" I said earnestly. Connor, for his part, _did_ slowly come to his feet, and made a great show of shaking down his feathers before sidling slowly towards the stable gate, "How about this; if you come out your stable, I'll give you all these lovely, nutritious seeds. As many as you want!"

Quickly, and with a short shower of seeds, I managed to unhook the latch and stood well back, daring the chocobo to come and get the tasty treats. Connor surveyed me with a suspicious eye, but nonetheless stepped forwards out of the stable and came a little closer, his gaze fixed on the pile of tasty-looking grain in my hands.

"What...what in the world is going on in here?" Edgar's voice rang out from behind me, and I turned my head to see the king and Terra coming up the stable stairs, "I asked you to get Connor out of his stable, not stir up the zoo!"

"Necessary casualties," I said dismissively, and jerked my head towards the advancing chocobo, "You wanted him out, and he's out, see?"

"You can't fault him there, Edgar," Terra said, trying to conceal her obvious mirth behind her hand, "Even if there _is_ seed all over the floor."

"...fine," said Edgar, "Just so long as you clean it up, Firma. That shouldn't be too hard for a Mage Knight, right?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, "Just let me feed Connor and I'll get right on it."

"Excellent," the king paused for a moment, "Incidentally, you should really give some thought to putting that food down. Chocobos can become...single minded about their food."

"I'm - what?" I turned back just in time to see Connor's beak yawn open.

There was a snap, and then pain.

Lots and lots of pain.

"I don't _sodding_ believe it," I said, some time later, "I can't believe that...that..."

"You tried to feed a chocobo by hand?" Locke supplied helpfully, "You're right; I can't believe that either."

"Very funny, Locke."

"If it helps, Connor's always liked to bite people," Edgar said morosely, "He even used to bite Sabin."

"Sabin? Who's Sabin?"

"My brother."

"Your brother?" I blinked, "You have a _brother_?"

"A twin brother, yes," Edgar frowned, "I must have mentioned this before."

"Not to me you didn't!"

"Me either," Terra said, "I suppose we have something else in common!"

"Yeah," I said darkly, "You both have twins who've been mauled by that psychotic bird."

"Oh, relax," she said, a little pointedly, "At least he didn't break any of your bones."

"A real silver lining," I said sardonically,, and held up my bruised, swollen hand for inspection, "Why don't you tell that to my hand?"

"Would that help?" she inclined her head, looked directly at my hand, and then said, "Look on the bright side; at least none of your bones are broken."

"Thank you," I said, blandly, "He feels better already."

"I'm a little surprised that none of yer bones _are_ broken, actually," Locke said, "Y'know that chocobos have a bite that can dent steel, right?"

"Just lucky, I guess," I shrugged, and turned to Edgar, "So, what's this about a twin brother, then? And why did I have to get mauled by an animal in order to find out about him?"

"I'm still a little surprised you haven't heard about him at all," Edgar said, "Did nobody mention him at the castle?"

"Not to me," I looked over at Terra, who shook her head, "Is he a common topic of small talk?"

"I suppose not, no," Edgar said, and sighed, "He left after my father died; just couldn't stand all the politics. He wanted me to come with him, but, well..." he spread his hands helplessly, "Someone has to rubberstamp all those forms."

"And so you stayed."

"I did."

"And he left?"

"He did."

"And that's _it_?" I said incredulously, "That's _everything_? Nothing sordid? No swordfights? No poison? No _incest?_"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"But you're royalty! There _has_ to be ince-"

"_Any_way," Locke said quickly, "Weren't you an' Terra going to load up the chocobos, yer Majesty? Y'know, before Connor 'ad his way with Firmament here?"

"What? Why, yes, I suppose we were," Edgar said, and clambered slowly to his feet, "Come on, my lady; Connor's normally placid once he's had his morning, um, feed."

"Har har _har_," I muttered.

"We'd best load him up and make ready to depart before he gets bored and wants feeding again."

"It's okay; Firma's got another hand," Terra said brightly, and then caught my scowl, "Oh, don't look like that; we'll load the chocobos and call for you when we're done, okay? I'll even tidy away the seed."

"Thanks, Tee," I nodded, "Mind that beak."

"'Will do."

With that they left to deal with the packs, leaving Locke and myself sitting rather awkwardly at the hard wooden table.

"Devil chocobo," I muttered, staring at Connor's handiwork, "_Devil_ chocobo. I mean, _look _at this! Look at my bloody hand!"

"I am lookin'," Locke said, and suddenly he had my hand by the wrist, twisting and turning it

to get a better look.

"Ow! Damnit, Locke!" I jerked my hand back safely out of his reach, "That _hurts!_"

"You know, Firma," he said, slowly, "I weren't kidding when I said that chocobos had a vicious bite. Your hand should be far more-"

"-broken?"

"-more two dimensional, pal."

"My apologies; I'll do better next time."

"You're in a foul mood this morning," Locke said.

"Being bitten by a seven foot bird will do that to you," I muttered, and looked towards the stables, "I hope Terra and Edgar finish up quickly; the sooner we put this place behind us the happier I'll be."

"Aye," the thief agreed, "Oh, Firma? Do me a favour, will you?"

"Mmm?"

"Don't ask Edgar any more about his da or Sabin. That whole subject is a bit of a sore spot for him, 'specially with that comment of yours about poison."

"Oh?" despite my black mood, I felt a little ashamed, "I...I had no idea."

"It's okay, pal. You weren't to know," he said, and leaned in, "Look, I may as well tell yer; the truth of the matter is that his dad was likely poisoned by Imperial Intelligence."

"Really?" I said, and then my suspicion lobe gave a flicker, "_Really_?"

"Aye," he said grimly, "He was the only leader who was willing to stand up to the Empire...well, being expansionist militaristic _bastards_. I mean, all the rest were _thinkin'_ it, but he was the only one brave enough to call 'em out. I reckon that the final straw came when he ordered the Empire to remove its military bases from Figaran soil. I know it _really_ got their backs up."

"And then?"

"Well, he died," Locke said, "'Wasted away slowly an' painfully. It wasn't the fate he deserved, that's for sure. Anyway, when Edgar took over the first thing he did was make certain that he was well an' truly allied with the Empire. Didn't want them to think that he was going to turn out like his old man, obviously."

"Why didn't he declare war? Surely-"

"What, a war he couldn't win?" Locke said, his tone suddenly sharp, "A useless, drawn-out fight against an Empire with magically-enhanced tanks and men like...like Kefka? What would _that've _accomplished, eh? It would've gotten a whole lot of people killed for nothing, and Figaro would've ended up in the hands of the Empire!"

"But-"

"But nothin', pal," he said, cooling down ever so slightly, "You've seen it yourself; sometimes the only way to win is not to play. You have to bide your time, hunker down, and wait for the rules to change in your favour. _Then_ you come out swinging."

"That could take years!"

"Then you'd better learn some patience, Firma," he said, quite seriously, "Sometimes, it's jus' how the world works."

"Maybe," I said, and flexed my hand experimentally. Both the swelling and pain were significantly reduced compared to five minutes ago, "Well, sitting around here isn't going to change anything. Let's go and help them with the packs."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Locke said, and stretched, "Just be careful around Connor, aye? I don't care how placid Edgar thinks he is; the next time, he could go for your neck."

"How about you ride him, then?" I suggested, "You clearly have more experience with chocobos then I do."

"Not on your life, pal," he laughed shortly, "I'm a risk taker, but I _ain't_ that foolish."

"Well, if you're going to be like _that_ about it..."

"I am. 'Sides, just think of it as a crash-course in chocobo handlin'. If you can ride Connor, you can probably ride _any_thing."

As it turned out, Edgar was right about Connor. Apparently satisfied with his efforts _vis a vis_ reducing my hand to a bloodied pulp, the chocobo not only 'warked' happily at my approach, but even kneeled down in order to give me a chance to clamber on. Personally, I had sneaking suspicion that this was just an act aimed at luring me back into snacking range, but as long as he didn't try to tear out any more of my flesh I was willing to play along.

The day was dark and blustery as we snuck out of South Figaro, and there was a definite wind coming in from the ocean. Even so, the signs of the impending hurricane couldn't stop my spirits from lifting ever so slightly as we left the brilliant white city by means of a small, little-used track that led off into the wilderness. At some point, I promised myself, I would come back and have a good look around the city when I wasn't in immediate danger of being shot or stabbed, but for now I was only too happy to swap thugs and Intelligence operatives for the flora and fauna of the South Figaran countryside.

For a while we followed the trail as it snaked down into a large valley filled with groves of gnarled olive trees and the occasional, rather rustic looking house. Despite the worsening weather, the birds were out and filling the sky with their mad chatter and birdsong, and amongst the undergrowth I could see and hear the scrubby bushes rustling as small, furry _things_ scattered away from the heavy tread of the chocobos. It was all very peaceful, and I could feel the ever-present tension in my shoulders ease ever so slightly as I put all thoughts of bombs and thaumium weaponry out of my mind; for once, the world didn't seem to be spoiling for a rumble, and that was an opportunity that I was going to seize with both hands.

Eventually, we left the last house far behind, and the trail slowly faded to little more than a few scuffs and scrapes, winding their way across the rocky Figaran hilltops. For some reason Connor suddenly seemed that little bit less certain of himself; the ordinarily cocky bird was looking this way and that, chirping nervously as his eyes scanned the dark corners of the undergrowth.

"Um, Locke?" I called, eventually, "Connor's acting funny."

"Ah, he probably just wants to bite you. It's been a while since yer fed him."

"No," I rolled my eyes, "I mean...he seems scared."

"Ah," the thief dropped back and gave the chocobo a long, appraising look, "Well, 'e's a pampered royal chocobo, ain't he. He's not used to the wilderness."

"That's it?" I raised my eyebrows, "That's not it, is it."

Locke rubbed his chin, "Well, I didn't want to worry y'all, but there are some critters out here who, ah, don't know their rightful place on the food chain. Some of 'em will even try to take a chocobo, if they're hungry enough."

"And humans?"

"If they're hungry _and_ stupid," he said, "Most people 'round these parts carry guns."

"You could have said something, you know."

"Why? They ain't gonna be a problem, an' you're on edge enough as it is. I don't want our position to be given away by you blowing up the countryside just 'cause you thought you saw something scary, aye?"

Right on cue, there was a cry of 'son of a-' from back down the trail, and a thunderous detonation that echoed dramatically through the valleys. Coming about quickly, we raced back through the trees to find Terra and her chocobo standing a little sheepishly next to a large, smoking crater in which were the charred remains of some small, furry creature of indeterminate origin.

"QED," said Locke, with just a hint of smugness.

"You don't even know what that means," I said, dismounting to inspect the corpse, "Are you okay, Tee?"

"I'm fine," she said hotly, "That sodding thing! It...it..."

"It's a rabbit, Tee," I said, "It's a big rabbit, but its a rabbit nonetheless."

"That's not a bloody rabbit! It came in at head height!"

"Actually, that's what's known as a 'leafer'," Locke supplied helpfully.

"Oh, yeah?" out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Connor was surreptitiously sidling towards me, "What's the difference?"

"About half a foot in length, ten kilograms, and the urge to fire themselves at your head and eat your eyeballs," Locke paused, "Although normally they're nocturnal."

"It was after my _eyes?_" Terra pinned Locke with a glare, "You could have said something, you know! Possibly along the lines of 'oh, watch out for the enormous meat-eating spring-loaded rabbits!'"

"Okay, I'm sorry!" he said, holding up his hands in protest, "You know, for a moment there you sounded a lot like your brother."

"Well...he's not _always_ wrong."

"Oh, _thanks_," I said, "In any case, if that's the end of the Case of the Leaf Bunny, can we move along? I-"

Without warning, a hissing brown shape, all teeth and claws, hurtled out of the undergrowth towards me like a furry surface-to-air missile. Reflexively I threw my hands up over my head and called my shields into existence, seeing in my minds eye the drool dripping off the enormous, razor sharp incisors-

There was a snap, and a rather muted squeak. Slowly, I took my hands away from my precious eyeballs to see the furiously struggling Leafer clamped tightly in Connor's beak. The chocobo bit down, almost casually, and with the brutal crack of snapping bones the critter went limp and lifeless. Apparently entirely unconcerned about this series of events, Connor delicately pinned the critter on under a clawed foot and began ripping out pieces of fur and flesh, making appreciative little chirps as he did so.

"Bloody hellfire!" Locke said, eventually.

"So," said Terra, leaning conversationally on Valanice's neck, "That's just a 'big rabbit', is it?"

"I...um..." I stuttered, and settled for patting Connor on the neck, "Thank you."

The chocobo gave me a long, dangerous look, and returned to his meal.

"I didn't know that chocobos ate meat," Terra said suddenly, "I'm _sure_ one of my books said that they were obligate herbivores."

"Ah, that's just a myth," Locke replied, "Actually, chocobos'll eat pretty much anything you give 'em. Seeds, nuts, Firma's hand-"

"You're not going to let that one go in a hurry, are you," I said irritably.

"I'm just sorry I missed it, pal."

"But...but-" there was a flurry of activity from atop Valanice, and then Terra was thrusting out a book for our consideration, "See? 'Obligate herbivores'! Right there on the page!"

"That's great, Terra," Locke said, plainly a little confused, "But given the choice between yer book an' this here real life chocobo eatin' a still-warm leafer, I'd say that I have to go with the chocobo."

"But...but..." my sister trailed off, and gave the book a dirty look, "Didn't anyone bother to research this?"

"Maybe Connor's just trying something new," I suggested, "You have to admit, he doesn't seem like the most stable example of his species."

"But-"

"If yer that bothered, lass, maybe you should write and complain," Locke said, clambering aboard his own map, "I'm sure you can find someone goin' back to South Figaro when we get to yer new home. Just ask 'em to pop it in a letterbox."

"That's probably the best idea," I agreed, "'least, I don't think we should be wasting time cooling our heels while our good friend Esme is breathing down our necks. I'm sure Edgar's wondering where we are, anyway."

I looked at Connor, who was at that moment wiping his bloodstained beak on a patch of handy grass. After a moment he caught my eye, and grudgingly kneeled down so that I could climb aboard.

"Maybe I will," Terra gave the book another dirty look and stuffed it back in her saddlebag, "They'll really do it, right?"

"Oh...aye."

Shortly thereafter, it started to rain. At first, it wasn't too bad; a few large, fat drops that churned the ground to mud, but it soon became obvious that the weather was deteriorating in a big way. We made a momentary stop to whip out the waterproofs and jacket the chocobos and then we were on our way once again, racing across the slippery, treacherous hilltops with hurricane Esme howling at our heels. Gusts of wind tore us this way and that, and it was all I could do to stay in the saddle as Connor struggled for purchase on the shifting, softening ground.

"This is getting _serious_, Locke!" I yelled, struggling to be heard above the shrieking winds, "How much further is it?"

"Not much further!" he shouted,"In fact - there! Down there, in that thicket!"

There was a thunderous crash of lightning, and Connor shrieked and started bucking wildly. Looking around, I could see that the others were having similar trouble with their own mounts.

"Okay, fine!" I nodded, "We have to get off this hilltop!"

"I _know_ that, pal!"

Descending the steep, rocky hillside would have been treacherous under even good conditions, but with the wind and the rain it was positively lethal. Slowly, and with gentle words of encouragement, I managed to urge Connor onto the slope. I could feel him trembling with every tentative step, and his wings flapped wildly as he tried to keep his balance on the silty sludge.

"It's okay, it's okay..." I whispered, and wrapped my arms around his neck. It was, I had to admit, as much for my reassurance as his; from where I was sitting, the bottom of the slope was a long, _long_ way down, and I was well aware that his well-being was the only thing between me and an extremely intimate encounter with the sharp, rocky outcroppings between us and the plains below.

Slowly, oh so slowly, we slipped and slid to the bottom of the valley, accompanied by the howling wind and driving rains and the occasional, heart-stopping crash of lightning. By now, Connor was panting and wheezing, and I could feel his legs shaking violently from the exertion.

"Good boy," I whispered encouragingly, and patted his matted feathers. The chocobo fixed me with a weary glare, but was too tired to even snap at my fingers. Clearly, he wasn't going to last much longer out here.

"We have to get the chocobos out of the storm!" Edgar said, and urged Graham onwards to the copse. Connor gave me a long, pleading look, and after a moment I sighed and slid off his back, making certain that I got a good handle on his reins in the process. There wasn't much chance of him bolting, but I wanted to make certain that I didn't lose track of him in this maelstrom. Grimly, I set my sights on the trees and squelched off after the king, half-helping, half-dragging my exhausted bird across the sodden grounds.

The 'thicket', as it turned out, was rather grander than it had appeared from the top of the hill. Tall, dark trees with thick trunks thrust skyward, bending and creaking ominously as the wind rushed through their branches, whipping leaves and twigs up into frenzied little eddies. Despite the howling gale's best efforts, the canopy was thick enough to blot out most of the light and, thankfully, the rain. Following Locke, I led Connor through the thick undergrowth to a large clearing at the centre of the ring of trees, where there stood a large, rather pleasant looking log cabin that was so totally overshadowed with trees as to be almost invisible.

"Well, thank goodness we have shelter," I remarked to Connor. Connor, for his part, seemed to be only too thankful to have reached comparative shelter of the understory, and I dove for cover as he vigorously shook the worst of the water out of his feathers.

"Well, maybe," Locke said, coming forward to take Connor's reins, "It's a nice place, alright, but-"

Before Locke could finish, Terra came staggering out of the storm, dragging the shivering, exhausted Valanice in her wake.

"Bloody _hellfire_.I'm _not_ going back out in that," she said, swiping at the water streaming down her face, "Is everyone okay?"

"For a given value of 'okay', sure," I replied, "This was a _really_ stupid idea, Locke."

"Needs must, pal," said Locke, "If we hadn't left when we did, we'd be fightin' hordes of the best an' brightest of Imperial Intelligence. How long d'ya reckon we would've lasted, eh?"

"Hmm," I wasn't particularly happy, but I was willing to let it slide for now, "Still, we have to warm up quickly, or we're going to come down with hypothermia. Tee, could you-"

"Sure," she said, and with a roar a large, roiling ball of yellow flame appeared in her hand. Its warmth was a welcome relief after the freezing rains of hurricane Esme, and before long steam was curling off my clothes and streaming away in the wind.

"I ain't ever gonna get used to that," Locke murmured.

"Would you stop that?" Terra glared at him, "I feel like a freak as it is without you and Edgar gasping and gawping every time I do something magical!"

"Oh, it ain't bad, Terra," the thief said, a little taken aback, "An' believe me, I'm grateful for the help, it just...ain't natural."

"Well, no," Terra's lips quirked, "It's _magic_."

"Indeed," I said, holding my hands over the fireball, "Has anyone seen Edgar?"

"He's gone 'round the back," Locke shifted uneasily, "He was gonna look to see if there were any stablin' for our chocobos."

"Okay," I frowned, "What's wrong, Locke? You don't look particularly happy."

"Well, I-"

"Didn't you say there was shelter here, in this thicket?"

"Yes, but..." he waved his hand in the general direction of the house, "This is, um, not quite what I was expectin'."

"Oh? What _were _you expecting?"

"Weelll..." Locke scratched his chin, "The last time I were here, this weren't."

"It looks pretty old, Locke," Terra said dubiously, "When was the last time you were here?"

"Two years ago, or thereabouts," he said, after a few moments thought, "Yer right, though; it

looks like it's been here a while."

"So we're lost, then?"

"We ain't lost!" Locke protested, "We may be a little off target, but we ain't lost!"

"That sounds like 'lost' to me…"

"Is anyone home?" I asked quickly, before Locke could come up with a suitable retort.

"Not that I can see," Locke replied, before adding, "An' before you can say anything, yes,

I'm good at knowin' when people ain't in."

"I wasn't thinking anything of the sort!"

"Yeah you were, pal. You have this silly little smirk on yer face when yer think yer about to be

funny."

"Oh, you've noticed that too?" said Terra.

"Thanks for the support, Tee," I said sourly, "Regardless, it looks comfy, it looks empty; I say we

take it."

"Grand," Locke said, "The door's unlocked; you an' Terra can check the interior, an' I'll help Edgar

stable the chocobos. Shouldn't be anything you can't handle, right?"

"Well…" Terra gave the house a long, suspicious look, "It could be haunted."

"Then that'd be a learnin' experience for all of us," he said, and shook his head, "Look; I reckon

that this place probably belonged to some crazy old kook who lived with his dog an' pet

shotguns. It's probably perfectly normal in there."

"It's the 'probably' bit that concerns me," I said, and sighed, "C'mon, Tee, let's go take a look."

The front door was old and splintery, and when Terra tapped gently on the wood it swung inwards with an impressive creaking noise, revealing a dark, mysterious interior that sent unpleasant prickles down my spine.

"Creepy," I remarked, and stepped inside. The wood groaned painfully underfoot, "Hold on; I'll

make some light."

With a wave of a hand I called a miniature sun into existence in the darkness, flooding the room with warm, golden light. Looking around, I came to the conclusion that whoever owned this place wasn't particularly big on creature comforts. While there was clearly a space that was for living and relaxing, the furniture looked hard and unfriendly, with a small bunch of flowers in a delicately painted vase being the only concession to some kind of humanity. Similarly, there was an area that was obviously a kitchen, if 'obviously' consisted of a rather primitive wood-burning stove, some cabinets, and a large wooden table scored repeatedly with knife cuts. Beyond that, there was a small door that led into parts unknown, and-

"Wow," Terra said admiringly, and her eyes lit up, "That's a _lot_ of weapons."

-an area that one could, charitably, call the 'militarised zone'. Towards the back of the house there was an area where several soft mats had been dragged over the hard wooden flooring. While that was a _little_ unusual, it became downright bizarre when combined with the weapon racks mounted on the walls upon which hung weapons of all sizes and description, glinting unpleasantly in the light.

"Terra, wait!" I said, but it was too late. Before I could stop her, my sister darted across the room and eagerly lifted a Domanian broadsword from the wall, "C'mon, Tee; we need to get a fire going."

"Oh my, would you _look_ at this craftsmanship?" she said, adjusting the blade to better see it in the light, "Do you think this is one of those blades that can cut a silk hankie?"

"Probably," I said, rather noncommittally, "Could we-?"

"And what're _these_?" my sister dropped the no-doubt fragile sword with a clatter and snatched up a pair of nunchucks, "What're you meant to do with these?"

"Oh, those?" I gave it a cursory glance, "'Saw a film last year where a guy used them to lay out a load of goons in a warehouse. If I remember he held one end and sort've flailed wildly with the other, but I'm not sure."

"You mean like this?" Terra gave it a go and, rather predictably, managed to clip herself across the back of the head, "Ow! Sodding hell!"

"Yeah, that movie caused a lot of problems. The Sentinels were neck deep in concussed idiots for a month," I said ruefully, "Anyway, Tee; we need to get a bloody fire started! It's freezing in here."

"Fine, fine!" she said, and scooped the sword off the floor, "Who'd keep a stockpile like this, anyway?"

"Beats me," I looked at a particularly nasty spear, and shuddered, "As far as I'm concerned, the main thing is that they aren't _here_."

By the time Locke and Edgar had returned from stabling the chocobos, we had managed to get the house to a point that was, at the very least, livable. With all the enthusiasm of a dyed-in-the-wool pyromaniac, Terra had set about building a fire so large and hot it put my companion sun to shame and gently scorched the furniture. Eager to avoid being flambeed myself, I had another look around the house before whipping up some hot drinks in the kitchen. After poking around a little in the cabinets, I managed to find a kettle, some tea leaves, and three cups inscribed with jokey 'you don't have to be made to work here...' style messages. Just as I was about to pour, the door banged open.

"Warm in here, 'innit," Locke remarked, and then caught sight of my work, "Ah, good lad. Milk an' six sugars, please."

"Six? Bloody hell; you'll rot your teeth," I shook my head, "Edgar? Tee?"

"I'm okay, thanks," said Terra, who was staring intently at her fire.

"Nothing in mine, thank you," Edgar slung one of Macaria's bags onto a sofas and sat down beside it, "Good lord, it's good to be in out of that storm."

"No kiddin'," Locke said, "S' a nice fire, Terra. Really warms the bones."

"It is, isn't it," she beamed, "I reckon I could probably make it hotter if anyone-"

"It's fine, Tee," I decided to quickly put a stop to _that_, "We want warmth, not third-degree burns. Tea's up, guys."

"Thank you very much," said Edgar, and then a slight frown crossed his features, "The...decor in here is a little unusual, wouldn't you say?"

"Aye," Locke nodded, "Who'd build a dojo all the way out here? Seems like an odd way to attract students, if you ask me."

"Maybe they don't want students," Edgar pointed out, and took a sip of his drink, "This is good tea, Firma."

"Years of practice," I shrugged, "When all you have to drink is tea, you get good at making it."

"The old Vectoran stereotype, eh?"

"Indeed."

"Still, the taste seems familiar..." the king took another sip, and then snapped his fingers, "Of course! Sabin used to drink this all the time; it was the only blend he'd drink."

"Particular, was he?" I said, "Budge up, Terra."

"Oh my, yes," Edgar laughed, "When we were children, Sabin wanted everything just _so_."

"'Been there- ow!" I winced as Terra poked me sharply in the ribs, "Who says I was talking about you, anyway?"

"Because if you weren't, you wouldn't have said it," she said, "You're so predictable sometimes, Firma."

"Huh!" I turned back to Edgar, "So, did _he_ at least grow out of it? Inquiring minds want to -ow! Stop that!"

"Eventually," said the king, who was now openly smirking at my distress, "He never quite got over the tea thing, however. He had a special cup for it, too...blue, slightly chipped around the rim, and with some stupid joke about royalty written on the side..."

"'Royals Do It With Their Second Cousin?'" Locke said, suddenly.

"Yes," Edgar grimaced, "He thought that was funny, for some reason."

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the crackle and roar of Terra's merry little fire.

"Hang about, Locke," the king said, sharply, "How did you-"

"'S written on the side of this blue, slightly chipped mug," Locke replied cheerfully, "It's kinda faded, but I reckon-"

"Let me see!" the king lunged, and there was a spray of sweet, sticky tea.

"Bloody hell, Edgar!" Locke swore, "Would it have killed yer to wait two seconds? I'm sodding _covered_ in tea!"

"But this cup..." Edgar said, twisting and turning it in the firelight.

"Sod that cup! I'm going to have ter bloody launder this shirt now!"

"In fairness, you've been needing to launder that shirt since I've met you," I said brightly. Locke gave me an evil look, and then stood up.

"I'm gonna change," he said abruptly, "Is there any privacy in this madhouse?"

"There's a door over there," I said, and inclined my head towards the kitchen, "Looks like there's a bedroom on the other side, but I didn't look all that closely."

The thief gave the the king a dark look, and then grabbed his things with a muttered 'I'll be right back'. I turned back to Edgar.

"Okay, your Majesty," I said, "What about that cup was so worth angering Locke over?"

"This is _his_ favourite cup!" the king exclaimed, and shoved it in my face, "Look! You can even see the little 'S' he carved in the base when we were children!"

"So I...see," I said, leaning back as far as I could. True enough, there was a couple of scratches that, if you unfocused your eyes a little, formed possibly an 'S' or the number five, "You're _really_ close, Edgar."

"Sorry, sorry," Edgar said, "I just can't believe that it turned up here, of all places! His tea, his mug. All these years with no contact, and suddenly _this_!"

"Did you put something in his tea?" Terra muttered.

"No, but I'm starting to wish I had-" I began.

"His favourite _flowers!_" the wild-eyed king declared, "See, hyacinths! I-"

"Okay, Edgar!" Terra said, possibly a little more sharply than she intended, "This isn't a particularly large space, and you're starting to get me on edge. Firma, too."

"You're...you're right," Edgar said, and took a long, deep breath, "It's just...well, imagine what you'd feel if you'd suddenly found some of Firma's stuff after such a long, _long_ period of... silence. To be honest, I half thought he was dead."

"I understand," my sister said gently, "It's okay, really."

"Thank you."

There was another period of silence.

"Don't go nuts, Edgar," I said, slowly, "But while I was rooting around in those cupboards, I came across a set of dishes with the Figaran crest stamped on the back. It didn't seem significant, but- oh, there he goes."

A moment later, there was a crash of crockery from the kitchen, "His favourite _dishes_! Firma, you're a genius!"

"Don't tell him that, pal," Locke said, re-emerging from the other room, "His ego's big enough already."

"But this _proves _it! Sabin _was _here!" Edgar exclaimed, "But...what was he doing in a dojo?"

"Beats me," the thief shrugged, "Incidentally, Firma, that _is_ a bedroom back there. There's only three beds, though, so one of us'll be sleepin' on the settee."

"This thing's like a bloody rock," I said, rapping my knuckles, "I'd rather take the floor."

"Well, I'm glad that's sorted," Locke said, happily, "Firma can sleep the floor, and we'll take the beds."

"But I-" I started, and then decided it was futile, "Well, fine! I need to catch up on my reading, anyway."

"Good," the thief rubbed his hands together, "Now, who's interested in another cup of tea?"

The rest of the day passed with the aching slowness of impending cabin fever. For the most part, I checked my equipment and helped Locke prepare dinner, all the while doing my my best to ignore the occasional 'hiya!' or cry of pain coming from the far corner where Terra was experimenting with ever-more-implausible examples of centuries-old weaponry. Eventually, sometime after eating she declared that she was sick and tired of beating herself over the head with an assortment of wooden and metal objects and disappeared into the bedroom to get some well-deserved rest. Shortly thereafter, Locke and Edgar also finished up and went to sleep, leaving me alone with the glowing embers of the fire and the wailing winds outside.

Still, that suited me just fine. Thanks to the events of the past couple of weeks, I had rather badly neglected the techniques that Cid had given me to flesh out my own magical abilities, and now, finally, I had an opportunity to run through them without having Locke or Edgar 'ooh' and 'aah' over them or Terra asking incessant bloody questions about what, exactly, it was that I was doing. It was an opportunity I was not about to waste and so, slowly and carefully, I gathered myself up into a cross-legged position and tried to blank out outside disturbances as much as possible.

A trio of lights flickered into existence, one after the other, and took up residence in the space between my palms. While they didn't look all that special from a distance, a keen observer would be able to spot the

subtle changes in colour and intensity shifting across the surface that suggested that there was something _unusual _about my little friends. A _really_ keen observer, or perhaps one with a creepy third eye, would be able to see that they were actually composed of many layers, each turning and twisting against each other in a delicately balanced dance that would come apart in an instant if I let my attention wander. It was sort of like plate spinning, I figured, provided the plates had enough energy to blow off an arm and were inside a tornado. Still, despite those minor issues, things seemed to be going well tonight. _Really_ well, in fact; if this kept up, I might be able to add another layer any time no-

"Firma?"

For just an instant, my attention flickered away from my construct, but it was enough. With a flash of golden energy two of the balls blinked out on the spot, taking all my hard work with them. The third one, freed from my constraints, drilled clean through the vase and settee opposite before embarking on a high-speed course of destruction that saw it ricocheting off walls and weaponry alike before I recovered and killed the power. Suddenly, the stench of ozone and badly charred wood filled the air.

"Firma?" Terra said again, sleepily, "Whass goin' on in here? What're you doin'?"

"I'm...I'm..." I looked around at the blackened walls and scorched swords, and cursed inwardly, "I'm practicing, Tee."

"You woke me up," she said, a little accusingly.

"I'm sorry," I said, sincerely, "I'll stop; you can go back to sleep."

"Nah; I'd never be able to sleep," she snorted, "Between them, those two snore loudly enough to wake the dead."

"'Didn't know that," I admitted, "'Course, I've always been the first asleep, so..."

"Yeah," there was an awkward pause, and then, "What _were_ you doing, anyway? What were you practicing?"

"Magic."

"Okay, so you don't want to tell me?" her eyes narrowed, "Fine, I-"

"No no no," I said quickly, "It's...well, how do I put it? It's almost a little embarrassing."

"It is?" Terra perked up immediately, and before I could say anything else she had plopped herself down, crosslegged, on the sofa next to me, "Do tell!"

"Oh, _Callista_," I muttered, "Okay...look, you know that you're stronger than me, yeah? Magically speaking, that is."

"Physically speaking, too," Terra said helpfully.

"Yeah, don't push it," I warned, "I bet you've also read a book or two about twins and people's constant, _unending_ comparisons, righ-"

"Oh, yes!" Terra nodded eagerly, and then added, "Oh, right...I see."

"Yeah, you probably do," I smiled wryly, "Well, after you'd rubbed my face in your obvious superiority one too many times, I ended up running off crying to Cid. He-"

"Hold on, that doesn't sound like me!" she protested, "I'd never do that to you!"

"Believe me, Tee, there were times when you could be an unmitigated _arse_," I said firmly, "Anyway, Cid did a bit of research on the matter, and reached the conclusion that while I'd never have your levels of raw power, I _might_ be able to keep up if I was smart with what I had. Energy-efficient casting, better control of my abilities...that sort of thing."

"So...those balls?" my sister thought about this for a moment, and then, "Were the layers meant to work against each other, or..."

"Oh, you spotted the layers?" I was, admittedly, a little impressed, "Yeah, Cid and I built those up over several years. If you can't keep them working in harmony, they, well-" I indicated the damage, "-you saw what happened."

"Sounds hard," Terra said, although I wasn't _entirely_ sure she meant it, "Especially with three of 'em."

"There used to be four, actually," I said, proudly, "Inky, Pinky, Blinky, and Clyde."

"'Clyde'? That's an odd name," Terra remarked.

"It's Thamasian," I said, "Elli named it for me."

"Elli? Ah, your...friend," she said, and then quickly added, "What happened to the fourth one, anyway?"

"Oh, he vanished when Elli died," I said, with rather forced casualness, "I wasn't, uh, particularly focused for most of that year. Or the year after that, come to think of it. Lost a lot of progress. I mean, I don't want to bore you with the details..."

"No, that's okay," Terra smiled, "We can change subjects if you want. It's just...relaxing talking to you, for some reason."

"Well, if you're sure," I shrugged, "What do _you_ want to talk about, then?"

"Me? Well, um, it's a _bit_ related, I suppose..." Terra said, "You know that shadow that we encountered?"

"The shadowy Elli?" I said, and received a nod in response, "What about her?"

"Well, she did say that she wanted to finalise something with you, and _you_ said that I stopped you from doing something stupid. I think I'd like know what happened."

"That's fair enough; I _did_ promise I'd tell you, too," I leaned back in my seat far enough to see if the bedroom door was still open, "Are they still asleep?"

"I think so; you want me to check?" Terra got up and padded silently across the room, "Yeah. It's either that or they're testing chainsaws in there."

"Good; can you shut the door? Some things are a bit...personal."

"Sure," she shut the door with a near-inaudible click, and returned to the settee, "Um...so..."

In case you hadn't guessed, this is one of them there times when I'm going to take back the narrative from the attention-deficit loon who's _apparently_ running the show and lay things out for you in large, easy-to-read, black-and-white letters. Some people may interpret this as a bald-faced attempt to paper over something that may show me in a less-than-heroic light, but those people are horrible, paranoid maniacs who should be avoided at all costs and possibly shot on sight. Besides, I don't recall promising that I'd tell you the _whole_ truth; if you find that so unpalatable, go and compile your own horrible affront to literature and language. It shouldn't take you more than a decade or so.

In any case, if we're going to _actually_ understand (insofar as some of you cretins are going to understand _anything_) the whole deal with Little Miss Ominous and her Statements of Foreshadowing , it's important to realise that there is a relationship - a _strong_ relationship, no less - between your emotional state and the sort of magic you're going to produce. We've already seen plenty of examples of magic that should have been well worth the price of admission (no refunds, incidentally), but beyond the special effects and resultant piles 'o' corpses, I haven't really discussed it all _that_ much. There's a reason for that; I forgot.

We'll start with _proper_ magic, which is to say 'the sort of magic that _I_ practice'. While some goons have referred to it as 'elemental magic' or worse, 'primal magic', it's actually reproducible, controllable, and probably follows a nice, neat set of thaumic theories if we only had the technology to either simulate or characterise it. It is also, to borrow a phrase, a dish best served cold. While Mage Knights are equipped with the necessary emotional cut-outs (as we've seen previously), regular people aren't, and experience has taught me that you can get some very _interesting_ results if people are overcome by their own self-pity, or hunger, or even happiness mid-cast. It's for that reason, actually, that magic is so carefully regulated; it's not that we're a bunch of killjoys who want to stop you having magic adventures (although we are, and we do), it's that there's a dangerously large contingent of undisciplined knuckle-scrapers who would end up dropping six tons of sullen, unsatisfied masonry on their partners every time they had a domestic. Believe me, you only want to have to deal with that _once_.

That said, I would rather spend the rest of my life working in the coroner's office with a pickaxe and some blasting cord then deal with another person who subscribes to the _second_ type of magic. While idiots with explosive emotional problems are bad enough, still worse are those who actuallywork out how to _tap_ that seething undercurrent of anger, because _then_ you have a real emergency on your hands. There's a lot of cultures and stories with a lot of names for this type of magic: 'Dark magic', 'Shadow magic', 'The Dark Side' (this one is popular, for some reason), but I'm going to call it 'Angry magic', because that's what it is; an unstoppable wellspring of rage given form and force in the real world. The trouble is, people who actually_ want_ to wield this sort of power tend to be small-minded, deeply unhappy guys who, when given power, invariably show themselves to be as bad as, if not worse, than the people they consider responsible for their unhappiness. It's powerful - very powerful, in fact, but as its driven purely by unbridled fury it's only nominally under your control and can be completely unpredictable. From personal experience, I can also tell you that it's _addictive_; suddenly, you found a way to get even with all those people who made you feel insignificant, and small, and _weak_. Better make an example of them, too, so that nobody else thinks that way in the future. How about that woman over there? Is she smirking at me? Not _man_ enough for her, am I? I'll show her!

Okay, so that last bit wasn't necessarily the train of thought that _I_ went through, but I'm sure you can see how an angry twelve year old who's just lost their best mate can be seduced by such a thing, especially if a certain flamboyantly-dressed _someone_ happens to...infer that it may be a means of bringing said mate back. This isn't true, of course; while it is indeed the sort of magic that solves all your problems, that only holds true if all your problems revolve around everyone nearby having too much skin.

In any case, I think I've covered this stuff in enough detail. I'll just say that, in retrospect, I'm not a big fan of the phrase 'emotional cut-out', as that makes me look like some kind of emotionless serial killer. If someone can come up with a better alternative, please let me know and I'll use it without crediting you.

In any case, let's have some action. If I recall, it's extremely _muscular_ action, too, which is always a plus. Who doesn't like extremely muscular action? Sexually insecure people, that's who. Onward!

"So, let me get this straight," Terra said, after I was finished, "You _hospitalised _me?"

"A little," I said, and held up my hands, "If it helps, it made me see the error of my ways!"

"I should bloody well hope it did!" she said hotly, "And here I thought you were-"

Exactly _what_ Terra thought I was went unsaid, as at that point the door caved inward with an impressive 'bang!', sending a wave of freezing air and water through the cabin. Both Terra and I shrieked in surprise, and relocated behind the settee with a speed that would have made our drill instructors proud.

"What's going o-"

"Ssh!" I silenced my sister, and peered carefully around the sofa. Instead of the Imperial death-squad that I had secretly expected, an enormous man stood impassively in the doorway, dripping with rain that, in the light of the embers, only served to highlight his quite frankly ludicrous build. Standing a good six and a half feet tall and stripped to the waist, he had the olive-tan skin of a born-and-bred Figaran, although his hair was rather more grey than I would have expected of a man of his apparent age. Not that any of that really mattered, though, as from the looks of things he could quite easily punch the kidneys of any would-be detractors out through their spinal column and probably the wall behind that as well. To be honest, he didn't so much move as _ripple_.

"What is it? Who is it?" Terra pressed.

"It's a man," I said, and then added, "A _big_ man."

"What does he want?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I hissed back, "A midnight protein-shake, perhaps? Maybe an arm-wrestle. I-"

I turned back to find myself facing a leg that, in poor light, could be mistaken for the trunk of a sequoia. A moment later, a pair of enormous hands reached down and plucked Terra and myself out of our hiding spot.

"Hey!" Terra said, struggling in the enormous grip, "Watch your hands, mate!"

"What is this?" the tall man boomed, in a voice that was _exactly_ what I had expected, "Two Vectoran children, hiding behind my sofa? How unusual."

"Oh, this is _your_ sofa?" I said, with somewhat forced cheer, "We had _no_ idea! _So _sorry for the misunderstanding but there's a hurricane on, and-"

"Sit!" he directed, and threw us back onto the rock-hard settee, "What are your names, children?"

"W-well, I'm...I'm...Terry," I said, "And this is...Fiona! Yes, Fiona!"

"How very interesting," he said, "It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Vargas, master of the hidden Blitz techniques. This is my dojo."

"Is that so?" I rubbed my hands together and tried to ignore Terra's smirk, "We...we did wonder at all the weaponry, I must admit. Still-"

"Yes, it is a great collection," Vargas boomed, and turned away for a moment, "I am extremely proud of it."

"_I bet those names don't sound so stupid now, do they, 'Terry'?" _Terra muttered, _"Why does his mouth keep moving after he speaks, anyway?"_

"_It's probably just a nervous tick, Tee," _I said, _"Don't draw attention to it!"_

"What are you two discussing?" Vargas boomed again, "I do not like those in my company to speak behind my back!"

"Ah...sorry," I smiled, a little glassily, and pressed on, "Still, _dreadfully_ nice to have met you, Vargas. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm just _completely_ tuckered out, so how about we go to bed and come tomorrow we'll be out of your hair. How about that?"

"I think not," he said.

"No, of course not," I agreed, with barely a pause, "We should probably play cards or something to pass the time."

"I fear you do not understand. Truly, it must be destiny that brought you to my dojo on this night, of all nights! Can you not hear the wind howling, and the crash of the thunder? The spirits of the world themselves demand that we battle to the death in glorious combat, to find out which of our martial arts is truly superior!"

"I'm...I'm sorry. I think I may have zoned out for a second there," I blinked, "Did you just say 'battle to the death'?"

"I did."

"Oh, okay," I smiled disarmingly, "A moment, if you please."

"Very well."

I turned away to Terra, who was watching the whole display with something between amusement and mild irritation.

"_This guy's nuts!"_ I hissed, _"Did you hear what-"_

"_Of course I did!" _Terra hissed back, _"I'm sitting _right_ here and he's projecting like he's on stage!"_

"_Well, what do we do?"_

"_I'm not sure," _Terra paused, _"Do we _have _a martial art?"_

"_I have a green belt in judo,"_ I whispered back.

"_Is that good?"_

"_In this situation? Probably not."_

"I said before that I dislike people whispering in my presence!" Vargas rumbled, "For some reason, you persist in doing this disrespectful thing!"

"It's very wrong of us, I'll admit," I said, "Um...is there an alternative to battling 'to the death'? A cash prize, perhaps?"

"If you admit that your martial art is indeed inferior, I may accept you to train as my students."

"Well..." I exchanged a long look with Terra, and then said brightly, "Right! What's lesson one?"

"We shall have a battle to the death to determine your strength, so that I might pitch the lessons accordingly."

"But that...it..." I frowned, "Are you trying to be funny?"

"It is a joke of mine, yes."

"I hope you're taking notes, Tee," I said darkly, "Look, Mr. Vargas, we like an arbitrary deathmatch as much as the next man-"

"Ahem!" Terra coughed.

"-or woman - sorry, Tee," I amended my statement quickly, "But how will defeating us prove your strength?"

"It will prove that I am stronger than you."

"...and how strong are we?" I said, "I mean, look at us! You're probably larger than both of us combined!"

"This is true," the giant conceded, "I had initially thought that you were perhaps malnourished..."

"So you have no basis of comparison! Fighting us has no worth because you have no idea where we stand in the global, um, arbitrary deathmatch community!"

"He's right!" Terra cut in, "The only reason you would have for fighting us is to establish some kind of baseline! There would...oops."

"Thanks, Tee," I said flatly, "I-"

"Enough!" Vargas boomed again, "Fiona is correct; truly, you must be my destined control sample against which I shall measure the worth of future fighters! The spirits of the world demand this!"

"Well, we did _try_ talking," Terra sighed, "That fulfills any obligations we may have as Sentinels, right?"

"Probably," I said.

"So I can blow his head off?"

"Probably."

"You don't seem very clear on this!"

"I don't think the rules were really designed to cover this situation!" I snapped, "How in the _world_ have Locke and Edgar managed to sleep through this?"

"They won't sleep through what _I've_ got planned," Terra said coldly, and turned to address Vargas, "So, Mr. Vargas; since you seem to be dead set on getting your head kicked in, how do you want to do this?"

"You two may attack me simultaneously, if you choose," Vargas said, "Perhaps that will make our glorious battle to the death more than a mere formality."

"I doubt that," Terra took a deep breath and stood up, "I have a bit of a problem, though, Mr. Vargas; I have amnesia."

"Is that so?" Vargas rubbed his chin.

"It is," my sister said,,, "It also means that I have _no_ idea how to go about starting a 'glorious battle to the death'. Is there some kind of ceremony, perhaps?"

I gave my sister a long, searching look. She was up to something; that much was obvious, but surely Vargas wouldn't fall for-

"It is a simple procedure, Fiona," the big man rumbled, "If you two would come with me to the mats, we'll get started."

A little hesitantly, I got to my feet and trailed behind Vargas over to the matted section of the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of Terra's fingers twitch, ever so slightly, and there was a subtle rattle of metal. Vargas paused for a moment, but apparently paid it no heed.

"Firstly, we bow when we reach the mat," he said, and indicated that we should do likewise, "Now that we are here, all we need to do is bow once again, and glorious battle shall be joined!"

"Could you perhaps show us?" Terra said, in a chilly tone, "I'd _hate_ to anger the spirits of the world by starting this brawl with incorrect manners."

"You speak the truth," said Vargas, "It is simple, really; you place your hands by your side, lean forward, and-"

Terra's hand snapped shut, and with a shriek of protesting metal a large, cast-iron frying pan came screaming out of the kitchen and hit the giant across the face with a humorous 'boing' noise. As he staggered she caught the pan by the handle and delivered a ringing backhand that sent the reeling Vargas crashing to the deck.

"Nice," I said, in the silence that followed, "'Wish I'd thought of doing something like that."

"I bet you do," Terra said, idly spinning the frying pan in her hand. It had, I noticed, developed a number of interesting dents where it had made contact with Vargas' face.

"Mind you, I probably would've used the swords," I continued, "Or maybe one of those spears..."

The silence continued, although I fancied that my sister's expression had turned a little sheepish.

"Yeah," she said, eventually, "That probably would've been a better idea."

"Still, that's not to say that the frying pan was _bad_, you know," I said, "It had...comic value, certainly."

"Mmm. Well, what're we going to do about our friend here?" Terra said, and nudged the stunned Vargas with her toe, "He's going to recover sooner or later, and I- hey! Gerroff!"

Without warning, or apparently even _moving_, Vargas' enormous hand was suddenly wrapped around Terra's ankle. Caught off guard, she brought the frying pan down on his head as hard as possible, but was dragged off her feet as the giant shambled back to an upright position.

"I have trained for seven years in the Iron Body technique of the Monks of D'jebli," he declared, "Your cast-iron cookware is no match for my mental and physical perfection!"

"Godsdamnit, let me _go!_" Terra yelled, flailing impotently with the pan as she dangled in his grip, "I mean it!"

"She means it, Vargas," I said warningly. In her hands, the pan was already starting to grow a cherry red, "You don't want to get her _really_ mad, believe me."

"Hah!" he snorted, "I was taught that it was disrespectful to strike women, but in _your_ case, I believe I shall make an exception. Behold the power of my Roaring Tiger Punch!"

"Now just wait a minut-" Terra began, but with a bestial roar Vargas hefted her up into the air and swung. There was a meaty thud, a shriek, and then an almighty 'bang' as she hit the back wall hard enough to shake the house to its very foundations. The frying pan spun in place for a moment, and then dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

"Tee!" I yelled, my heart rising in my throat, "Tee, are you okay?"

From somewhere behind Vargas, there came a noise that sounded like a cross between a rattle and a giggle, "I'm...I'msss fine, Firma. I ssink I may have picked up a couple of sssplinters, though!"

"Impressive," the big man _sounded_ impressed, too, "She is far sturdier than she looks."

"You'd better believe it," I said darkly. Where _were_ Locke and Edgar? That _must_ have woken them up! "I guess its' just you and me now; I really wish it wasn't, but...fine!"

With a snap of my wrist I called my golden, snapping blade into existence. Vargas gave it a long, careful look, and then burst out laughing.

"Truly, you are the most interesting pair of children I have met! I do not fear your little knife, Terry, for I have spent years subjecting myself to the most brutal of elements! Come!" he said, and clenched a fist the size of a bowling ball, "Have a taste of my superior technique!"

"Uh, no thanks..." I said, a little distantly, "I just ate."

"Howling Tornado Fist!"

"Oh, buggeratio-" I hurled myself onto the mat, avoiding the enormous knuckles by millimeters as Vargas charged past me, demolishing the settee in a blur of spinning firsts. Quickly, I scrambled to my feet and rushed to Terra's side.

"Tee, are you okay?" I said urgently, "Can you move?"

"My gods, what did he _hit_ me with?" she moaned, "my side's _killing_ me!"

"Um...let's see," I probed gently with my mind, and said, "Yeah, he's broken a couple of your ribs for you. Nothing serious - or, at least, it wouldn't be serious if we weren't about to be trodden on by some half-mad martial arts freak."

"'Least he says what he's going to do before he does it," she murmured, "That's sporting, I suppose. Help me sit up-"

"Mighty Eagle Dive!" the roar came from across the room, and I looked up to see Vargas in mid-air, his elbow aimed squarely at my precious solar plexus.

"No time!" I said, and grabbed her hand, "We need a shield, _now!_"

With a flash, we were encased in a bubble of cracking, snapping ribbons of gold and red energy, and I had the distinct satisfaction of seeing Vargas' eyes widen in the split-second before he slammed headlong into the shield. There was a very solid sounding 'crack' and the bubble warped as it struggled to contain the big man's weight, before we got our minds under it and blew out the shield with enough force to throw the twitching, slightly-smoking martial artist onto the table across the room, which promptly collapsed in a cloud of dust and splinters.

"Is that it?" Terra wheezed, "Is he done? I'm done, that's for certain."

"Probably not," I said. Indeed, the mess of wood was already starting to shift ominously, "I don't think he's about to let a little thing like _that_ get between him and his glorious battle to the death. What we need is some kind of diversion-"

"What in the blue blazes is going _on_ out here?" finally, the bedroom door clicked open and Edgar and Locke barreled into the room, brandishing, between them, enough pointy metal objects to arm a squad, "Firma, what's-"

"Took you guys bloody long enough!" I said sharply There's a crazy man under that table - don't go near him! He's already broken most of Terra's ribs!"

"You said a 'couple'," Terra objected, "Now they _really_ hurt."

"What're you talkin' about, pal- ooh, crikey," Locke's statement died on his lips as Vargas shouldered his way skyward once again, "What've they been feedin' _him_?"

"Impressive, children," Vargas said, "This has been a most _glorious _battle; one I shall remember for some time! But you!" he said, taking in the comparatively diminutive Locke and Edgar, "Who are you to interrupt in our struggle?"

"We're their friends, pal," Locke said threateningly, and the king raised his multi-function crossbow, "An' if you come any closer, I'll gut yer like a bloody fish."

"Wait for it..." I muttered to Terra.

"Hah!" Vargas sneered, "What makes you think you can challenge me, master of the Blitz techniques? I have trained for my entire life to-"

"Oh, _do_ be quiet," Edgar said, and pulled the trigger. Two tiny barbs shot out and hit Vargas square in the chest, and a moment later there was a sizzling discharge of electrical energy that dropped the martial artist like a sack of corn.

"That's fortunate," the king remarked to Locke, as Vargas twitched and writhed on the floor, "I wasn't entirely sure that would work."

"Aye, yer would've looked pretty silly right up until the point he punched your face in," Locke nodded, "Are you two okay?"

"We've been...better," I said, as I helped Terra up into a seated position, "He kind of took us by surprise."

"I'll bet," he nodded, "Take a moment to get yer breath back, okay? I've dealt with his sort before."

"Locke?" Edgar said urgently, "You may want to think about- oh, _no-_"

Something atop of Edgar's crossbow exploded with a flash and a shower of sparks, and he dropped the weapon with a whimper of pain. Bellowing in anger, Vargas clawed his way back to a standing position and got a firm, meaty grip on the blinded king's shirt.

"You disrespectful, dishonourable..." he began, and then I thought I saw a flicker of recognition pass across his face, "_You!_"

"You'd...better go and help them, Firma," Terra said, and smiled weakly, "I'll be fine here."

Vargas hefted Edgar up into the air, "Where is he? _Where is he?_"

"Where is _who_?" Edgar gasped, and then his eyes fell on the remains of the cheery blue coffee mug, "Wait, you can't mean _Sabin_, can you?"

"Let him go, pal!" Locke snarled, and there was a flash of steel and blood. With a sigh, I recalled my lightning blade and joined the assault. With a sneer of derision, the man picked Locke's blade out of his thigh and cast it to one side, and then took a firm grip of Edgar and threw him headlong at the thief. Both went down in a tumble of arms and legs, leaving me heavily outmatched and, for that matter, outmassed.

"Well!" I said, with a lot of false bravado, "Come on then, if you think you're hard enough!"

The martial artist surveyed me for a moment, and then laughed a deep, belly laugh, "I believe I have had my fill of you for this night, _child_. You made for an unexpectedly...interesting opponent, I will say, but having seen him-" his gaze passed momentarily over to the tangled mess of king and thief, "-I know that _he_ can't be far away. Our battle has been destined since the day we met, and I should not like to injure myself dealing with whelps like you when I can finally prove myself the strongest of the Blitz disciples! Farewell, Terry; until we meet again!"

Before I could reach him, Vargas bounded towards the door and hurled himself out into the night, just ahead of the tip of my snapping, crackling electrical blade. For a moment I stared out after him, before I kicked the door shut and turned back to my friends.

"Good heavens," I said, eventually, "What a flipping _nutter_."


	30. Chapter 11: Day of the Tentacles - P 1

**Chapter 11: Day of the Tentacles - Part One**

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed our little sortie into the chaotic, testosterone-sloshed world of 'arbitrary deathmatch'. In my opinion, I don't think Terra and I did too badly for our first bout. I mean, yes, she _was _almost punched clean through a log wall, but I feel that she should be given credit for her attempt to beat a six-foot-seven brick of meat senseless with a frying pan. It didn't work, but it's hardly her fault that the brick in question had spent the last decade seeking enlightenment by cracking himself over the head with an array of increasingly solid objects.

While we're on the matter of people with extremely hard skulls, I should also mention that the whole confrontation with Vargas reminded my fiancee that, despite everything we've been through, my understanding of unarmed combat is about that of an office worker whose greatest nemesis is the change-eating vending machine down the corridor. In her opinion, this _shocking_ lapse in my skillset means that I'm going to end up bleeding out in an alleyway after a six-year-old kid with dysentery takes a liking to my googly-eyed keychain. In my defence, I pointed out the extreme challenge that this hypothetical six-year-old would face in mugging me if they, their dysentery, and their dreams of illicit keychain ownership were all reduced to elemental carbon by a satellite-frazzling bolt of divine judgement, but this argument fell on deaf ears. To her, the fact that I can summon plasma hot enough to melt tungsten is entirely irrelevant; it doesn't _count_ if you don't see your assailant off using nothing but your fists, feet, and a good hearty shout. Why? I don't know, but apparently this is the conclusion you reach after six or so years of psychotically intense martial arts training.

Anyway, in order to placate her I tentatively agreed that I'd find time to learn more about punching bricks in half and the proper pronunciation of 'Hiya!'. Somehow, this rather hesitant suggestion managed to trigger the neuron marked 'Your training begins _NAOW!_' and started a chain of events that concluded with me tapping out on the lawn having been twisted into a shape that a pretzel would find uncomfortable. Call me old-fashioned, but when you're starting out on your road to self-defence perfection your teacher normally begins with things like 'this is how to tie your belt' and 'this is how to defend against a punch from a man who wants to hurt you _very slowly_'. You certainly don't expect the opening lesson to involve being launched through the nearest open doorway and bent into a shape that roughly approximates the Penrose triangle, and say I was unamused would be a strong contender for Understatement of the Bloody Century.

In the interests of fairness, I should probably also say that I have never, ever seen my fiancee so embarrassed or apologetic. When I'd cooled down a little, she freely admitted that she'd gotten a _touch _over excited and carried away in the heat of the moment, which would certainly explain why she very nearly put me into low orbit. Later still, she put on her very best puppy face and begged me for another chance, promising that we'd start at the beginning and wouldn't progress to fending off knives, batons, and rabid wolves for at _least_ a week. Maybe two, if I turn out to be a slow learner.

Of course, anyone who knows me and my resistance to those big, sorrowful eyes will be entirely unsurprised that I've given in. If I'm being honest, though, it's not _really_ about the self defence; no matter what she says, a bolt of lightning powerful enough to emit X-rays will do you for most any situation. In this case, it's all about her. When she talks about her training, she speaks with the kind of fire and passion that she normally reserves for critiquing art, and it doesn't take a genius to realise that she's deeply unhappy that she's let it slide in recent times. We all do things for the ones we love, and if being tossed around like a ship in a storm brings a smile to her face, then that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I'm being dragged into town to go look at _gis_ and some kind of shock-absorbent matting. In the meantime, please feel free to take a moment to saw 'awww' or snigger behind your hand, and I'll take the high road and pointedly ignore you.

Vargas was gone, but his short visit had done an impressive amount of damage. Most of the furniture had been reduced to piles of cheap wood and fabric, and my friends and family were lying in dazed, moaning heaps wherever the martial artist had thrown them. Locke and Edgar, thankfully, would be absolutely fine, at least once they'd finished complaining and massively exaggerating the extent of their injuries. My sister's future was not so certain, however; in my absence she had slumped back to the floor, and her grey pallor and shallow, wheezing breaths were setting off little red klaxons all over the inside of my head.

"Tee? Tee!" I said softly, kneeling down beside her, "It's okay, I'm here."

"Good," she muttered, "My ribs...killing me..."

"Hold on," I said, and lightly laid my hands on her ribcage. Almost immediately, small pockets of white-hot pain blazed across my mind, and I felt my fingers dig into her clothing as I forced my way through the agony to the underlying injury. Now that I had time to assess the damage, I realised that it was worse than I had originally thought; Vargas' blow had smashed several of Terra's ribs to pieces, creating a shifting mass of bony shards that dug viciously at the surrounding tissue whenever she breathed. So far, the worst of it had been held in check by her latent abilities, but they were already starting to flicker and would probably vanish completely the instant she lost consciousness.

"...well?"

"It's not good, Tee," I said honestly, "Four ribs broken, three of them in two places."

"And...?"

"And if you weren't a Mage Knight, and _I _weren't a Mage Knight, right now I'd be praying that you'd survive long enough for us to airlift you to Castle Sacae," I smiled a little crookedly, "You'll be fine. Once I put your ribs back together, you should be able to sleep the rest of it off."

"Thanks, Firma," she murmured, as I got to work, "'Sorry to be such a... pain."

"You're not a pain, Tee," I said firmly, "You did brilliantly."

"Yeah, right," she snorted, "I barely scratched him."

"I'm serious!" I insisted, "You were _this_ close to having him...y'know, before he cleaned your clock."

"Hah," Terra smiled weakly, "Don't...make me laugh, Firma. It hurts too much."

"Sorry," I said quickly, "Just lie still; it'll be okay soon."

"I know," she said, and then motioned me closer, "...when you get a chance, take a look at Edgar's crossbow."

"You mean his-"

"Ye-ahh!" she winced as a piece of bone jumped back into position, "I'm not sure what he's done to it, but...magical. 'Think it may be that thaumium you got off of Jumbo."

"Really?" I cast a surreptitious look over my shoulder to the tangled mass of limbs that represented fifty percent of our little team's biomass, "How odd."

"It's clever, certainly," she said darkly, "I'm not sure I like it."

"I'll check it out," I promised, and gave one of her freshly-repaired ribs a mental poke, "That should just about do it. Just stay off the magic overnight, let your body rest and you'll be as good as new by tomorrow morning."

"Thanks again," Terra said, as I helped her slowly to her feet, "You might want to check on those two. They're awfully quiet."

"Maybe they're just getting comfortable," I suggested, and Terra sniggered, "C'mon, let's give them some privacy."

"I heard that, pal," a warning growl came from somewhere in the heap, "I'm not so sure I like what yer insinuatin', y'know."

"Quite so!" said another voice that could only be Edgar, "The national press would have a field day if they discovered I were enjoying the company of such a... _common _individual."

"Common? _Me_?" Locke protested, "Listen here, you bloody fop, I'll have yer know my tastes are _very _refined!"

"Indeed," Edgar remarked, "Nobody else knows more about second-hand jewelery."

"Are you calling me a _thief_, Edgar? That's it; I'm going to kick your _bloody _ars-"

"Stop struggling, Locke! Your boot is caught in my hair!"

"Well, maybe if yer just _cut_ it like us _commoners_, this sort've thing wouldn't happen!"

"Maybe if _you _took some care over your personal appearance..."

"...and there's the noise," I said to Terra, who was clearly trying very hard not to laugh, "Go get some sleep, Tee; I've got this under control."

"I'm sure you do," she said, and ruffled my hair as she turned to leave, "Good luck!"

It took some doing, admittedly, but eventually I managed to calm the pair down enough to disentangle Edgar's finely coiffed locks from Locke's bootlaces, at which point it simply became a matter of prising them apart with a well-placed boot and a piece of shattered furniture. Eventually, and with a few yelps of pain, I managed to drag them apart far enough to get a decent look at their aches and pains. As I suspected, both of them had largely escaped injury, with the worst of it being a pair of minor headaches and some bruising around Edgar's neck where Vargas had throttled him. After quick check to confirm nothing had escaped my notice, I turned my abilities loose and let them deal with the problem.

"Thanks, pal," Locke said, once the gold-blue glow had faded from the room, "That's much better."

"Excellent," I said, and rubbed my hands together, "Cash or cheque?"

"Let's just call it even," he retorted, "Y'know, for risking my life attacking that walkin' pile of anabolic steroids. Who _was _he, anyway?"

"Beats me," I said, and looked over at Edgar, "'Knew your brother, though."

"Indeed," the king's expression was unreadable, "I only wish I knew _how_."

"I'm sure we'll find out," I said, and then added, a little wryly, "In fact, I _know_ we will. Probably in excruciating detail, too."

"Aye, Firma's right. I wouldn't worry about it," Locke said, and stretched luxuriously, "Anyway, that was a nice bit of midnight entertainment, but I'm completely knackered. How about you guys take the first watch an' Terra an' I'll relieve you in four hours?"

"Terra needs to sleep; Vargas really did a number on her ribcage," I said firmly, "In any case, do we really need to post a watch? I mean, what're the chances of him coming _back_?"

"He came here in the first place, didn't he?"

"I agree," Edgar nodded, "We should err on the side of caution."

"If you say so," I sighed, "'Guess we'd better get some of this wrecked furniture on the fire, then."

In the end, naturally, it was _me_ who ended up feeding the dying fire with pieces of cheap fibreboard. Meanwhile, Edgar (who had developed a sudden and crippling fear of splinters) fiddled endlessly with the increasingly unlikely mess of metal and cabling that was apparently his answer to the hordes of intelligence agents and magically-enhanced walking tanks who were hot on our trail.

"How're the repairs going, then?" I asked, a little sourly, "It looked like a fairly impressive explosion."

"Mmm," he said absently, and then looked up, "I'm sorry, Firma? What was that?"

"The repairs. How are they going?"

"Oh! Fine," he said, and tilted the thing so that I could see, "It was my fault, really; I should've stuck with the netting until I'd fully tested the new system...but there you go. Lesson learned."

"Uh-huh," I said, and prodded another piece of wood into the crackling blaze, "So what _is_ the 'new system', exactly?"

"It's..." Edgar paused, and for a moment I fancied he looked a little sheepish, "Well, I adapted it from one of Terra's ideas."

"Really?"

"You remember that thaumium that we retrieved from Jumbo? It got me thinking about what Terra had scrawled all over my notebook, and I thought I'd try and incorporate it into one of my designs."

"Yeah, I remember that," I peered closer, "So that...purple bit there is one of the ten-thousand-gil-a-shot bullets from Jumbo's anti-me gun?"

"I've had to remove the casing, but yes," with a tug, Edgar plucked it from its housing and held it out for my inspection. It caught the firelight in strange, unnerving ways, and I felt unaccountably uneasy in its presence, "It's an amazing material, you know. I've tried it with heat, light, and electricity, and it seems that whatever I put into it, it amplifies it many times over. See how it's reacting to the fire?"

"The shifting lights?"

"Exactly," the king sighed, "I just wish I knew where it was drawing its energy from."

"Well..." I paused, and then decided to come clean, "Terra said she sensed magic around your crossbow thingy. She specifically mentioned the thaumium, too."

"Really?" Edgar looked towards the bedroom, "Maybe I should ask her-"

"No; she needs to sleep!" I snapped, a little more forcefully than I intended, "Sorry...I mean, do you want me to take a look at it? I could probably confirm what she was saying."

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all," I said, and closed my eyes. In the shifting, grey world of my mind's eye, the thaumium was easy to spot; a dark, ugly bruise around which the magic twisted and flowed like a whirlpool, "Yeah, this is magical - in fact this looks just like that anti-magic grenade Fendon had, Edgar. A little smaller, but still the same," I opened my eyes, "Hold on; Sentinel Asaline said that was a Figaran design..."

"She said that?" Edgar frowned.

"She did," I said, and then, "Which would mean that you were developing weapons to-"

"Contain people like Terra and yourself? I suppose we were, yes."

"By 'contain' you mean 'kill', right?" I snorted, "Don't try to sugar-coat it for my benefit, please."

"If it helps, I didn't really have all that much to do with it."

"You'd be _astonished_ how much that doesn't help."

"I can understand that," he said, and sighed, "Now try to understand my point of view, Firma. Less than a month ago, you and I were _enemies_, politically speaking. If the Emperor had ordered your wing into battle against Figaro, would you _really_ have risked your life and career by disobeying?"

"Well, I..." I began, and conceded, "No, I suppose not."

"Of course you wouldn't," Edgar smiled, "To be honest, when you and your sister first appeared,, my father's strategists thought that you were the first examples of a new super soldier project. They were sure that within a decade we'd be facing armies of people like, well, _you_."

"So you needed something like...that grenade?"

"Exactly," an eyebrow went up, "And considering that you and Terra managed to bring down two Golems almost entirely by yourselves, I'd say that their worries were well-founded - at least they would have been, if the Empire hadn't prioritised developing Magitek weaponry over magically enhancing individual soldiers."

"That's an odd thing to do," I said, and then added, "That..._was_ an odd thing to do, right?"

"Well, yes and no," Edgar shrugged, "We know of six magic users, yes?"

"Seven," I corrected, and then added, "But six who're still alive, yeah."

"Well, you and your sister have always had your powers, your General Celes was enhanced when she was very young...so that leaves Kefka, your Major Anceleti, and that MK6 girl. One was driven insane, one failed, and the third - well, the third is admittedly a bit of an enigma...but still, do you see what I'm driving towards?"

"That the enhancement process doesn't work on adults?"

"That is certainly a possibility," he nodded, "Or if it _does _work, the result is too unreliable to be a feasible super soldier. It's probably easier to develop weapons and vehicles that your _current_ army can use immediately instead of having to raise your Magitek Knights from children - and less costly when one inevitably dies. That's my reasoning, anyway; your Emperor may have been thinking along very different lines."

"If he was thinking at all," I remarked, "That aside, you haven't explained how your dad managed to track down this wonder material for his anti-magic grenades - or how the Empire managed to get their hands on it."

"To be honest, I'd be surprised if he had anything to do with it," Edgar smiled broadly, "It was probably some defence contractor who actually developed the device. Maybe they were selling to both sides."

"That doesn't sound very patriotic."

"It happens more often than you'd think, actually," he said, "The Empire and Figaro both use similar rifles; brought from a Jidooran company, incidentally. The Empire buys its body armour from the same company who sells grenades to Figaro, too. It's why the Empire's been so careful about outsourcing Magitek weaponry; it doesn't want twenty years of R&D to end up in the hands of the highest bidder."

"Yeah, that would probably be a little annoying," I agreed.

"I think I could bear it," he chuckled, "Still, all this talk isn't replacing this capacitor. Do you mind holding this for a moment while I take a look?"

"Um..." I began, but he had already tipped the bullet into my open palm. It was strangely warm to the touch, and in the dim light I fancied that the shifting lights had taken on a slight golden hue.

"Thanks," the king said, "Now let's see about this blasted bit of wiring..."

"Is it bad?" I asked, throwing the bit of metal idly from hand to hand.

"It's worse than I'd hoped, but not as bad as I feared," he said, a little absently, "Could you make a bit of light for me, Firma?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, and focused my energies into a space just over his meta-weapon. My hand tingled, and a moment later a rather nebulous ball of light shimmered into existence. It was, to be frank, a bit pathetic.

"That's very... soothing," Edgar said, a little hesitantly, "Would it be possible for you to make it a little brighter?"

"It should _be_ brighter," I replied, irritably, and fed it a bit more juice. For a moment the ball brightened, almost imperceptibly, and then settled back down into its 'soothing' state, "Oh, for heaven's sake-!"

"It's okay, Firma. Give it a few minutes and then you can try again," Edgar was clearly struggling to contain a smirk, "It doesn't make you any less of a Mage Knight."

"Do you want me to hit you? Do you see this fist?" I said, and presented Exhibit A for his inspection, "Do you know how many playground fights this has los- oh, what the _hell?_"

Both of us stared at my fist - or more specifically, at the brilliant, golden light spilling out from between my clenched fingers. Slowly, warily, I relaxed my grip, revealing the now-blinding hunk of purple metal wreathed in tiny bolts of blue-gold lightning that snapped and snarled as they coursed across its surface.

"Is that the thaumium?" Edgar said wonderingly, shielding his eyes against the glare, "Firma, what is it doing?"

"I-I don't know!" I protested, "It's-"

"Get rid of it, man! Quickly!"

Spurred to action by his tone, I hurled the thaumium across the room. The sparking, spitting gob of metal traced a white-hot line through the air and exploded scant moments later with a brilliant flash and a blast that rocked me back on my heels and rattled the weapons in their mounts. When my vision cleared, all that remained were a few sparks that drifted, smoking, to the floor.

"My word!" Edgar's voice was strangely dim and distant, "Firma, are you okay?"

"I...think so," I said slowly, and checked myself to be sure, "What happened?"

"I, um-" Edgar began, but then the bedroom door banged open. Terra stood in the doorway, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"What in the _world_ is going on out here?" she demanded, "Are you two setting off fireworks?"

"We-"

"Would it be possible for me to get an entire hour of uninterrupted sleep? Or is that going to be asking too much?"

Edgar smiled wryly, "You know, you sound an awful lot like your brother when you're irritated."

"Locke said the same thing," my sister frowned, "I don't know why either of you are surprised by this fact."

"Clearly he's a bad influence."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Terra smiled, and seemed to relax ever so slightly, "You two aren't off the hook yet, though. What the _hell_ are you doing out here?"

"We were investigating the thaumium," I said, a little distantly, "You know, that thing that you asked me to look at?"

"Yeah? Did you find anything out?" she said, and then her eyes widened in realisation, "Hold on - that wasn't what exploded, was it?"

"It was."

"But..._how_?" my sister shook her head, "You know what? That's not important. Are you guys okay? You're not hurt, are you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine," I said, with just a hint of sarcasm, "Being blown up is really starting to grow on me."  
"I think he's had a very nasty shock," Edgar said, and chuckled,, "I'm...used to having little mishaps like that. Comes with the territory, I suppose."

"That was a 'little mishap'?" I blinked, "C'mon, the damn thing nearly took my hand off! What do you consider a _big _mishap?"

"I'm not sure," the king considered this, and then said, "Tell you what; when I have one, I'll let you know."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry too much about it," I said, and added snidely, "I'm sure the mushroom cloud will be quite sufficient."

"Okay, Firma, that's enough," Terra said wearily, "How about...why don't you go and get some sleep? I'm sure that Edgar and I can get to the bottom of this, and you clearly need the rest."

"I'm fine!"

"No, you're exhausted. You're always ratty when you're tired!" Terra pointed out, "Moreso than usual, I mean."

"Well...what about your ribs? I thought I told you that you shouldn't be up and about-"

"I'll be fine," she said, and gently rotated me towards the bedroom door, "You worry too much, Firma."

"Fine...whatever," I said, and ran my fingers through my hair, "I have no idea what you hope to get out of this, but...fine!"

We're going to pause here for a moment, partially so that everyone can take a breather, but mostly because Terra's rather blase response to serious injury (see: 'You worry too much') has reminded me of a particularly annoying group of individuals who I swear must be the bane of anyone who works or has worked in the field of 'sewing your leg back on after that grisly chainsaw accident'. I swear, or at least hope to the gods, that whoever's in charge of cosmic justice has constructed a special hell just for these people, because if they haven't there's going to be some _godsdamn _bureaucratic restructuring after I pop my clogs.

I suppose, again, that some context is probably required. My Grand Unified Theory, such as it is, is that patients tend to fall largely into one of two groups. The first group (which, mercifully, is the grand majority of the population) are plain, boring, unassuming people like you who work in a plain, boring, unassuming desk job as a means of passing the interminable length of time between now and your inevitable demise. You go to the pub, take walks in the park, and understand that when you're hurt and ordered to a hospital bed, its because a Sentinel is advancing their professional opinion that your recovery time will be drastically reduced if you remain prone, immobile, and (preferably) silent. I _like_ people like you.

The people who _are_ the problem here are that small, select group of people who seem to believe that life is an action movie and that _they're _the protagonist. Not just any protagonist, mind you; it's _always _that archetypal warrior-type who can soldier on despite having sustained injuries that, but for narrative intervention, would have reduced them to a leaky sack of meat containing enough lead to qualify as a brownfield site. While that would normally be fine (if a little annoying), it's suddenly rather less fantastic when you're attempting to explain to someone with two broken legs that, no, they cannot 'walk it off' or that their barely-attached arm does not qualify as 'just a flesh wound'. I know that you're trying to put on a brave face for your significant other, but to be honest I really don't care; just shut up and let me drag you to the emergency helicopter, you deranged loon.

I suppose the main issue I have with a lot of people in this category is that they're tying up valuable time, resources, and my limited supply of magic with terrible injuries that could have been totally avoided with just the tiniest smidgen of forethought. These are the arrivees who come with notes like 'this patient's other leg is in a crocodile', 'this patient tried banging together chunks of sub-critical uranium', or even 'this patient accidentally set off his own minefield'. As you can guess, these mishaps tend to result in injuries that range from 'serious' to 'spectacular', and none of them would have happened if the people involved had listened to their guide, a physicist, or even basic common sense. If you think you may be in this group, please do me a favour; the next time you're about to play amateur electrician, ask yourself 'has Firma's shift finished yet?'. You will make me the happiest Sentinel in the world.

Despite everything that had happened it took me a long time to get to sleep. I lay on the hard, unfriendly mattress, listening to the nonstop shriek of hurricane Esme and the creaking cabin walls while my mind flitted uselessly from one thought to another. Eventually, my exhaustion won out over my background anxieties, and I drifted off into a twisted, nightmarish world of exploding bodybuilders and magical whirlpools that lasted until I fell out of bed and landed on my nose.

"Mornin', Firma," Locke's voice was, I decided, far too..._present_ for my liking, "Sleep well?"

"Passably," I said, clambering slowly to my feet, "You?"

"Oh aye - 'cept, of course, for the bit where some idiot playin' with explosives nearly blew us all to kingdom come-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I rubbed my eyes and gave him a dull, bleary look, "Any chance of breakfast?"

"There's some porridge," he said, and then added, "Yer better eat up fast, though; I want us to be packed up an' on the move in half an hour, okay?"

"On the move? But what about the hurrica-" rather belatedly, I noticed that the wailing and ominous creaking was nowhere to be heard. In its wake, there was a calming silence and, in the distance, the melodious trills and twitters of birdsong.

"Esme's gone, pal. Reckon it'll be clear blue skies for the rest of the day," Locke said, "An' if she's gone, you can bet that your friends in the intelligence services ain't gonna waste any time tryin' to pick up our trail."

"Mmm, point," I nodded, "Are Edgar and Terra still trying to puzzle out the secret of that stuff that almost killed us?"

"Beats me," he shrugged, "I found 'em sleepin' peacefully next to that blasted contraption of Edgar's."

"Nothing exploding? Nothing on fire?" I asked, and Locke shook his head, "Probably didn't get anywhere, then. They're still asleep, I assume."

"Didn't have the heart to wake 'em," he said, and rolled his eyes, "'Sides, knowin' Edgar he was probably working 'till the sun came up, an' I reckon your sister probably was too."

"Well, she's always been competitive," I said, and yawned, "Right...give me five minutes get myself together and I'll wake 'em up. Reckon you could get the kettle on?"

By the time I located an old, sweaty pair of socks and gone through the rigmarole of lacing up my boots,I could hear the kettle whistling furiously in the next room. As promised, Locke had also managed rustle up a large bowl of steaming porridge that looked and smelled like it was one good lightning strike away from achieving sentience.Still, I was starving, and the glorious sunshine outside had lifted my mood to the point where even the dubious origins of my breakfast couldn't bring me down.

As promised, I found Terra and Edgar propped up against one another on the settee, snoring quietly in their slumber. The king was clutching the latest iteration of his multi-faceted death machine in his hands like a child holding his favourite toy, while my sister was smiling gently in her sleep, apparently more at peace with the world than she had been in a long, long time. It was a moment of tranquility, perfectly preserved, and I could see why Locke hadn't wanted to wake them earlier.

"If it were anyone else, I'd say it'd was cute," Locke remarked, "With these two, though..."

"Nothing like a homemade weapon of mass destruction to bring people together," I said, "You're right, though; this borders on sickening."

"Gonna wake them?"

"I suppose," I said, and gently shook Terra's shoulder, "Tee? It's time to wake up. Tee-"

"No, Firma!" she mumbled, "It's the blue wire! The blue-whuh? What's going on?"

"Morning, Tee," I said, "You were dreaming."

"I...so I was," she said, and rubbed her eyes, "I think you were in it, too."

"So I gathered," I said, and raised an eyebrow, "It's a good thing I woke you before I got us killed."

"Hah. You were funnier in my dream," she said, and carefully manoeuvred the still-sleeping king into a sitting position, "I don't suppose anyone's made any coffee, have they?"

"Aye; the kettle's just boiled," Locke said, "There's porridge, too."

"I can see that," Terra said, surveying my bowl with a look of mild horror, "That's porridge, yes?"

"Aye."

"The cereal made from oats?"

"Feel free to starve, lass."

"I'm...I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude," she apologised, before adding hopefully, "You said there was coffee, too?"

"Yeah, as soon as Firma makes it."

"_I'm_ making it?" I gave him a quizzical look, "Didn't I ask you to make it?"

"You asked me to put the kettle on, pal," Locke reminded me, "'Sides, hot drinks are your department, jus' like yer sister here's gallantly volunteered to go an' feed the chocobos."

"I have?" Terra said, "But-"

"When yer done, bring 'em round the front, and I'll get Edgar to load 'em up once I've slapped him back to life. Is that all clear?" Locke stared at both of us in the ensuing silence, "I weren't jokin' when I said I wanted to be gone in half an hour, y'know! Now move!"

The next twenty minutes passed in a whirlwind of coffee and high-speed packing, punctuated at one point by a shriek of pain and some loud, inventive cursing as my sister and the chocobos got to know each other a little better. Shortly thereafter, and just as I finished stuffing the last pair of socks into a handy bag, the door slammed open and Terra stalked in, wearing a dangerous expression and nursing a nasty looking bruise on her upper arm.

"Coffee?" I said brightly. I knew that look.

"Yes!" she said angrily, and downed the proffered cup of black liquid in a single go before slamming it back down, "I take back everything good I ever said about Connor, Firma. You were right; he's a godsdamn menace."

"That bruise looks like his handiwork," I said, and quickly refilled the cup. Yet again, Terra knocked it back, "What happened?"

"I decided to feed that monster first - you know, just to get him out of the way," she said, "The instant I turned to deal with Graham? He tries to take a bloody chunk out of my arm. Would've done, too, if I hadn't shielded myself."

"Good thing you did," I smiled sympathetically, "Want me to take a look at it?"

"I'll be fine," she shook her head, "He didn't do any real damage; it just hurts like _hell_. Is everything packed, then?"

"Just finished, actually," I said, and nodded over at Edgar, "You hear that, your Majesty? Terra's gotten the chocobos all warmed up for you."

"So I heard," the king said, looking apprehensively at Terra's war wound, "Has anyone seen Locke?"

"He went off into the thicket," my sister replied, "He said he wanted to be sure that the 'perimeter was clear' before we set off. Not sure what that-"

As if on cue, the door banged open once again, and Locke came darting into the cabin. His face was pale and sweaty, and for a moment he stood there gasping for breath before staggering over to the settee.

"What're y'all doin' standing around in here?" he burst out, "We have to leave, an' we have to leave right now!"  
"What?" I said, suddenly anxious, "What did you see?"

"Y'know that hillside we came down last night during the storm? Well, there were at least ten people up there on chocobos. Armed, too, by the looks of 'em."

"Imperial Intelligence?" asked Edgar.

"Hard to tell, but I can't think of what else they'd be."

"Can't we hide here?" Terra suggested, "I mean, maybe they'll pass us by and-"

"They'll check the copse, Tee," I said.

"Oh..." she looked a little disappointed, "Well, how long do we have?"

"Well," Locke paused for a moment, "That hillside's still real sodden from the downpour last night; it'd be suicide for them to try and climb down it right now. It looks like they're just watchin' the lay of the land while they're waitin' for it to dry out."

"...and how long would that take?"

Locke spread his hands, "Noon? Maybe sooner."

"So an hour?" she considered this, "That's not so bad."

"If its all the same to you, Terra, I'd rather have more than an hour's lead on a group of heavily armed commandos," he said, a little sarcastically, "Some of us old hands think that a margin like that's just a wee bit on the thin side."

"You said you thought they were watching the land," I said quickly, eager to head off an argument, "Aren't they going to see us the instant we leave the copse? A decent sniper could probably hit us at this range."

"We'll head north, so's we can keep the trees between us an' them for as long as possible. There's a network of old ditches nearby that we can use for cover 'till we reach the forests south of the Sabres. It ain't perfect, but it beats runnin' over open ground."

"If we keep running, aren't they just going to follow us all the way to the Returner base?" Terra objected, "Shouldn't we try to stop them here?"

"Someone could get hurt, Terra."

"I know," she frowned, and then added, "That's the _point_."

"No - I mean, one of _us_ could get hurt. Will get hurt, actually," Locke said, "D'ya remember what yer brother was sayin' about these people? They spend every day training to kill the people who their superiors tell 'em to kill. That time yer spent readin' all those books? If you were an Imperial assassin, you'd be spending all that time an' more at the range or on the mats or out in the field jus' so you could get that extra edge over yer targets. As much as I hate to say it, we're no match for 'em."

"But I'm a Mage Knight-"

"They _know_ yer a Mage Knight, Terra!" he said, more loudly this time, "That's why there's ten of 'em and they're probably packin' high calibre weaponry! If you go out there and start tossin' fireballs around, they ain't gonna be surprised, y'know; they'll be _expecting_ it! All they'll do is thank you for makin' yerself such an obvious target right before they put a bullet right between yer eyes!"

There was a long, shocked silence, and the air thrummed with tension as Terra and Locke glared at one another. Finally, the thief's shoulders sagged, and he gave a long, soulful sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean for it to come out quite like that. I'm not doubting yer bravery or ability, Terra, but I've seen too many friends killed or captured for stupid reasons to let you risk yerself like that."

"It's okay," she said, but I could see the subtle tightening of the skin around her eyes, "I suppose I was being a little overconfident."

"Aye, jus' a little," Locke said, "Don't worry about us leadin' them to the Returner base, Terra; they've dealt with Imperial snoopers before, an' I'll be very surprised if they don't have to again. It'll be okay."

"I'm sure it will," I said briskly, "On the other hand, standing around here reassuring one another isn't putting any distance between us and them."

"Yer right, it ain't," he said, turning serious once again, "Everyone grab their stuff and let's get goin'. The sooner we're away, the happier I'll be."

The atmosphere was tense as we grabbed our packs and carried them across the thick churned mud to our waiting chocobos. Connor, who had been carrying himself with a haughty, rather self-satisfied air, took one look at my expression and immediately knelt down to let me sling the saddlebag across his back.

"Smart bird," I murmured, and he gave a short, annoyed little hiss in response. With a grim smile, I clambered on and waited for Locke to confirm that we hadn't left anything behind that might help any potential pursuers in their hunt.

"At least its a beautiful day," Terra remarked tensely, more to herself than anyone else.

"Yeah," I said, and added absently, "It's almost a pity to waste it on being run into the ground."

"Oh, come _on_, Firma!" she snarled suddenly, "Why do you always have to bring everyone down? Can't you just give the pessimism a _rest_ once in awhile?"

"I...um..." I stuttered, taken aback by her anger, "Sorry?"

"You're _sorry_? That's nice!" my sister said scornfully, "If you're going to be dead weight, you could at least be _quiet_!"

"'Dead weight'? What the _hell_ do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you and your bloody Sentinel rules and your 'I can't _possibly_ hurt someone who's trying to _kill_ me! That would be _wrong!_' You want to know the _actual _Locke thought we can't deal with those assassins? It's because he knows that while the rest of us are fighting for our lives you'll be hiding behind a tree suffering from another moral aneurysm!"

"Actually-" Edgar began.

"So I'm a useless coward? Is _that _what you think of me?" I retorted, my voice rising, "I'll remember that next time you need your ribs repaired, you ungrateful-"

"I wouldn't have _needed_ to have my ribs repaired if you'd stepped in before that madman hit me!" Terra yelled, "But no, you stood there like the world's most useless magically-enhanced lemon while I got my clock cleaned! What is that if not dead weight, eh?"

_That_ hurt. It must have been obvious that it hurt, too, as I was pretty sure I saw a flash of regret in Terra's eyes. Still, it only fuelled the anger that was now burning coldly in my chest, and so I took a deep, shuddering breath and said, in what was almost a whisper, "I crossed two continents to find you, Tee. I _killed _someone because they were threatening you. _After_ I'd had a rifle round put through my shoulder. Maybe you should remember that."

There was that flash of regret again, but I knew my sister too well to expect her to back down now, "I sacrificed _everything _for you, Firma," she said, in an equally chilly tone, "Do you have any idea what I've lost? Can you comprehend that at all? It makes getting shot in the shoulder look kind of pathetic."

"Enough! Both of you!" Edgar said, his calm demeanour slipping for just an instant, "This has been a very stressful time for all concerned, and I understand that you're both scared and angry. Still, you need to be working _together_, not placing blame or saying things that you'll later regret!"

"Try telling _him_ that," Terra glowered at me. Before I could reply, she drove her heels aggressively into Valanice's flanks and, with a surprised squawk, the chocobo took off into the thicket and was shortly lost amongst the trees. I watched her go, silently, as I felt the rage crystallise into a cold, hard ball in the pit of my stomach.

"Sisters, eh?" I said, a little distantly, "I suppose I'd-"

"I'll find her, Firma," Edgar said quickly, "If you go after her it'll just make things worse."

"But-"

"You need to cool off and calm down," he said, "Both of you. If you catch up with her you'll be at each other's throats before you know it, and right now that is something we really can't afford."

"I-" I started, but as with Terra before him Edgar drove his heels into Graham's flanks and took off into the undergrowth, leaving a trail of claw prints and the odd yellow feather, "You know what? Fine! Be like that!"

With Terra and Edgar both gone, the clearing suddenly seemed a far colder, less welcoming place. A disconsolate wind soughed through the trees, carrying with it the distant birdsong that had, I fancied, acquired a faintly mocking edge. Connor pawed listlessly at the dirt and gave me an impatient look, but wisely decided to remain silent. After a few minutes of uneasy silence, the cabin door creaked open and Locke strode out, looking faintly satisfied with himself.

"All don- oh, where's everyone gone?"

"Terra took off," I said, indicating the tracks leading out of the thicket, "Edgar went after her."

"Yeah, I heard yellin'," he said, "Figured you two were havin' a bit of a spat. 'Least she went the right direction, aye?"

"Small mercies, I guess," I said coolly, but was relieved nonetheless, "Shall we be off, then?"

"Yeah," Locke said, and clicked his tongue. Obediently, Alexander knelt down to let the thief climb aboard.

"Neat trick," I said, "You'll have to show me how to get Connor to do that."

"I think Connor'd interpret it as an invitation to rip your head off, pal," he chuckled, and then added, "Look pal; I know yer still het up from yer tiff, but can I tell you something?"

"You were eavesdropping?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Aye, jus' me an' the rest of Figaro."

"Indeed," I said, "And your advice was...?"

"Don't be too hard on yerself, pal, or yer sister," he said kindly, "I know that the Empire says that eighteen-year-olds are adults an' all that, but I've never actually met one that _was_. Truth be told, I did most of my growin' up in my early twenties."

"So...you're saying that we're stupid kids, then?"

"Stupid kids with magical superpowers, yeah," Locke said, happily immune to my sudden glare, "Look; when I was yer age I used to fight with my brother all the time, an' it's not like we were on the run from trained assassins. All this stress, the constant risk of death? It has to come out somehow, an' if you an' yer sister weren't arguing at all I'd have to seriously wonder if there was somethin' wrong with you."

"Because we're stupid kids, right?"

"An' don't you forget it," he said cheerfully, "'Course, me an' my brother weren't _twins_. People always say that twins have some kind of special relationship-"

"Yeah, and those people never knew Terra," I said, and nudged Connor into a canter, "There was a reason I was closer to Elli."

"What, you mean you never had yer own special language?"

"Well..." I considered this, "We used to beat each other with the semaphore flags; does that count?"

"Never finished each others sentences?"

"Only accidentally."

"No telepathy?"

"Are we really doing this?" I rolled my eyes skyward, "No. No telepathy."

"Funny; I heard Mage Knights were telepathic."

"Tele_kinetic_? Yes. Telepathic? No."

"How about...the ability to sense each other's pain?"

"Let's test it, shall we? Go and punch Terra, and I'll tell you if it hurts."

"I'll pass on that, pal."

"Wise decision."

"Okay, okay... I've got another one..."

I'm going to interrupt Locke there, if only because giving him more airtime runs entirely contrary to my long-term goal of having all mention of him erased from history. I'm also going to ignore most all of his various stabs at twin mysticism, if only because everybody's heard it all before and quite frankly the only people who profit are those quacks who write books about ley lines and the healing properties of gelignite. I get asked about this sort of thing all the time, and for some reason the people pressing me for answers get very disappointed when I explain that my ability to sense my sister's thoughts from halfway around the world is heavily reliant upon the postal system. C'est la guerre, I guess.

The _actual_ reason I'm interrupting here was because I'm thinking that this whole bit is casting my relationship with my twin in a very poor light. Don't get me wrong; Terra and I were not particularly close growing up (for several reasons) and we've had more than our fair share of arguments, fights, and generally reprehensible behaviour. Anyone with a sibling, however, knows that it is entirely possible to love them to bits (despite their glaring personality flaws) even while you're drawing up detailed plans to have them thrown off the nearest water tower. I may not be the most emotionally outgoing person on the planet, but it's fair to say that my slightly mad, idiosyncratic sister is one of the most important people in my life. I suppose that I should probably tell her that more often.

Anyway, I just wanted to emphasise that point (particularly the bit about the glaring personality flaws) before returning you to 'dubious advice from older people'. I think we can all agree that listening to people prattling on about their life experiences is just as exciting as 'extremely muscular arbitrary deathmatch', right? _Right_?  
Sorry.

Terra and Edgar were waiting for us in a small, shaded gulley, shielded from the sun and any opportunistic snipers. In a slightly unusual reversal of roles, my sister was bent studiously over the ever-more-ludicrous home-built hand-cannon while the king kept an eye on the surrounding environment. This time, it had acquired a slightly strange reddish glow, and I wondered what, exactly, they'd done to it in the last ten minutes to achieve that effect.

"No, Locke," I was saying wearily, as we approached, "We never roamed the halls of the orphanage chanting 'come play with us'."

"But-"

"And for the record? I've never worn a dress, blue or otherwise."

"Really? I'm surprised," Terra remarked, and shot me a glare that was equal parts anger and guilt, "You know, I think a nice blue dress would go really well with your eyes."

"Yeah, because fashion, colour, and 'Terra Branford' forms such a _natural _Venn diagram," I retorted, "I'll stick with grey, thanks."

"And you think _I'm _unfashionable?"

"It's a uniform, Tee! You-"

"Can you two bicker later?" Locke said sharply, "Those men up on that hill'll be makin' their descent just as soon as it's not suicidal, an' we're not nearly far enough away for me to feel comfortable."

"Indeed," Edgar agreed, "We're far too exposed out here on the plains. I trust this concealment of yours is nearby?"

"Close enough, aye," he said, and nodded towards a particularly magnificent oak that stood alone in the middle distance, "In fact, an' if I remember right, that tree is right next to one of the southernmost ditches in the network. I told you it was nearby."

"That tree?" I asked, and he nodded, "That specific tree?"

"Do you see any other enormous trees around, pal?"

"Admittedly…" I looked hopefully across the hilly plains, but saw nothing more than endless gently waving grass, broken up by the occasional hunk of stone, "No."

"So, in answer to your question, pal - yes, that tree. That _specific_ tree."

"Perhaps we could save the smart comments until we're safe and sound, yes?" Edgar said, and gave Locke a hard look, "I think one argument is quite enough for the time being."

"Right you are, Majesty," the thief coughed, a little self-consciously, and gently nudged Alexander up to a light trot, "If everyone could just follow me…"

Now, maybe something was lost in translation, but it very quickly transpired that Locke apparently understood the word 'ditch' to mean something very different to the commonly accepted definition. In my (admittedly limited) experience of ditches, they were fairly shallow affairs, dug mainly for irrigation and to give hapless cadets like myself something to fall in during nighttime exercises. By comparison, this so-called ditch was more like a wartime trench, especially considering that it was wide enough for two chocobos to walk abreast, and deep enough to completely conceal said chocobos and their riders, with enough room left over for the silliest of tall hats.

Despite the brilliant Figaran sun, it was dark and cool down here, which allowed plants to thrive that would otherwise shrivel and die on the plains. The walls and earth underfoot was choked with thick, ropy vines of aggressive climbing plants that, in places, knotted together overhead and reduced the daylight to a dark, eerie glow. In the moist darkness, the air was filled with swarms of buzzing insects and dark, heavily armoured creepy crawlies scuttled across the plants and in the mulch underfoot. For some reason, I felt like we were all unwelcome intruders on a strange, alien world, and that thought sent chills up and down my spine. We needed to leave, and the sooner, the better.

"It's creepy, isn't it," Terra said quietly, apparently getting the same sensation, "Who built this?"

"Its likely an old fortification," Edgar said, "There was a point in Figaro's history when it was simply a loose alliance of small nation states. They used to fight constantly - constantly enough, at least, that defences like these became worth the effort."

"Was there a war here?"

"Been lots of wars here, lass," said Locke, almost a little sadly, "People'll fight over the silliest of things."

"Yes. I'm...beginning to learn that."

They continued to talk quietly amongst themselves, leaving me to listen intently to the rustling vines and occasional chittering from the undergrowth. Okay, so we weren't welcome here; that was fine. This still beat being shot at, right? I mean, there were trained Wraiths up there, and...somewhat aggressive, creepy greenery down here - _obviously_ being down here was better, wasn't it? There wasn't anything that could hurt us, surely - and as long as we stayed the course, we'd be fine, wouldn't we? Wouldn't we?

"Firma?" Locke's voice intruded harshly on my attempts at positive thinking, and it was all I could do avoid shrieking in absolute terror.

"Gods_damnit!"_ I swore instead,_ "Locke! _Don't startle me like that!"

"What?" he said, and leaned backwards in his saddle, "I was just going to ask if you were okay!"

"I'm fine!" I said shortly.

"No you're…hold on," a slow, rather nasty grin started to spread across his face, "You're not _scared_, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Good," he said, still grinning, "'cause I was just tellin' yer sis an' the king here about all the people who've mysterious disappeared in these here networks."

"...disappeared?"

"Aye," he continued, "Vanished without a trace."

"This isn't funny, Locke!"

"An' I ain't laughin'," he said, "They've always said that there were _things_ lurkin' in these places. Just waitin' for some poor, luckless traveller to come within reach and _chomp!_" I jumped, and he laughed nastily, "Never heard from again. Always thought they were fairy tales, myself."

"They _are_ fairy tales, Locke," I said, through gritted teeth, "Because they _don't exist_."

"Well, I used to think the same thing about Mage Knights," he smirked, and guided Alexander further into the trench, "But then I met you."

"Yeah?" I called after him, and then decided to let the rest of my witty retort go in favour of seething quietly in my saddle.

"I shouldn't let it worry you," Edgar said, with an amused smile, "We have quite enough _real_ threats to deal with without adding local rumours to our list."

"I know! I'm _not_ letting it worry me!" I took a deep breath, "Look, this place may be...wrong, but I'm sure that any _supposed _vanishings have a perfectly rational explanation."

"Oh yeah?" Terra raised an eyebrow, "Who're you trying to convince, Firma?"

"Do I need to convince _anyone_?" I said, "I mean, do you _really _believe that there's some ancient evil lurking in these trenches, or do you think it's more likely that people have been robbed, murdered, and their bodies hidden under all this greenery?"

"They're both good options," my sister replied, and then inclined her head, "What was that?"

"What was _what_?"

"That noise!" she said, "'Sounded like someone crying out."

"Oh, come on, Tee - that's the most cliched-"

"Hold on, Firma, I heard it too," Edgar held up a hand, "It sounded like it came from up ahead."

"From where Locke's gone?" I snorted, "Please. He's just trying to freak me out."

Terra muttered something under her breath, and then said, "Well, we should probably make sure he's okay. He's the only one who knows where we're going, after all."

"He'll be fine, you'll see," I said, and wheeled Connor around to follow Locke's tracks, "...you'll see."

Mercifully, our wayward thief was absolutely fine - at least physically. As we approached, I could see that he was sitting bolt upright in his saddle, looking for all the world like a deer caught in a spotlight. If this was all part of his attempt to freak me out, then it was _seriously _getting old.

"Locke…" I growled, and put my hand on his shoulder. He tensed suddenly at my touch, and I felt a nervous jolt in the pit of my stomach, "Locke, what's going on?"

Just then, a smell of something metallic, visceral, and very _organic _slapped me across the face. I knew that scent - experienced it plenty of times, actually, while peering over my instructor's shoulder in Wareydon's infirmary. For it to be here, though…

"You can smell it, can't you?" Locke said. He was breathing shallowly, and his skin had a distinctly unhealthy pallor, "The blood?"

"Yeah," I said, and heard Terra gag suddenly behind me, "There's a _lot_ of it, too. Where is it coming from? A fresh kill?"

"Not sure," he replied, "I don't like it, though."

"Well, no," I agreed, "We should probably check it out, though. Someone could be hurt."

"Nobody uses these old trenches, Firma-"

"_We_ are," I pointed out, "And I know that whatever's causing that smell is almost certainly dead, but if _you_ were bleeding out a million miles from civilisation, would you really want the last thing you hear to be someone saying they couldn't be bothered to see if you were still alive?"

"I'm just not sure we should be riskin' our lives investigatin' this, pal," he objected, "If it _is_ a big kill, then that means there's somethin' out there that's even bigger. You may find yerself in over yer head."

"Still-"

"If you're worried about Firma, I'll go too," Terra offered, "Just to be safe."

"It's still too risky-" Locke started.

"We dealt with those Golems, didn't we?"

"Okay. I can see I ain't gonna win this one," he conceded, "Just be careful, you two."

"Will do," I said, and quickly dismounted. The soggy ground squelched unpleasantly underfoot and kicked up a smell of decaying leaf mold that was, somehow, a welcome relief from the stench of death. Another squelch indicated that Terra had followed suit and a moment later she was at my side, steadying herself on my shoulder as the ground shifting beneath our feet.

"Sorry," she said, and looked anxiously down the path, "Shall we go, then?"

After about twenty feet, I was beginning to wish we'd brought the chocobos. While the leafy compost had proven to be no problem for Connor and his enormous talons, we discovered very quickly that attempting to cross the trench on foot was much harder than it seemed. If the mercurial topsoil wasn't giving way at a moments notice, the vines snaking around our boots made every effort to pitch us headlong into a pile of insect-filled muck, at which point I assumed that the denizens would waste no time in stripping us to the bone.

"You owe me a new pair of boots," Terra muttered. She had finally made her way to the trench wall and was now inching her way forward, going hand over hand across the vines, "These are _filthy_."

"I know," I said grimly. With a tug, the pile of mud that had captured my boot gave it back with a faint sucking noise, "Still, thanks for coming. I appreciate it."

"For the record? I agree with Locke," she replied, "This is far too risky."

"Oh? Then why _did_ you offer to come along?"

"Because otherwise I'd just be worrying about you," she said, "You seem to have a knack for getting yourself in trouble."

"Thanks," I said acidly, "Your faith in me is flattering."

"What? Can't I worry about my little brother?"

"'Little' brother?" I raised my eyebrows, "And when did we decide _this_, exactly?"

"I don't know," she considered it for a moment, and then said, "You just have a 'younger brother' vibe to you, don't you think?"

"You know what? Celes said the same thing once."

"She sounds like a smart woman."

"Hah," I snorted, "She's eighteen going on forty-five. To her, _everyone _is the little sibling - or at least she'd like them to be."

"Mmm," Terra said absently. Slightly puzzled by that response, I gave her a quick look to find her peering carefully at a little alcove a short distance from our current position, "Tell me, Firma…"

"I see it," I said, grimly. While it was difficult to see much of _anything_ in amongst the tangle of vines and moss, it was almost impossible to miss the deep, royal red stain that was even now slowly spreading across the mud.

"Is that-"

"Yeah, that's blood," I nodded, "It looks like we've found the source of our stench."

Moving quickly, we scrambled over the vines like an improvised monkey net until we reached the recess. As we approached, the stench got worse and worse until even I began to feel Locke's porridge rising rebelliously in my throat. Despite that warning, and despite all the images running through my mind, I still felt woefully unprepared for the sight that awaited us when we rounded the corner and found the centre of our worries.

"I'm...I'm going to throw up now," Terra said, and then did so noisily.

In my two years as a Sentinel, I had seen some reasonably grim scenes, but this? This was something genuinely grotesque. All around us was death; every vine, every pile of mud, every little nook and crevice had been _painted _with blood, to the extent that it was dripping from the plants overhead and flowing down the walls to form the slowly-expanding pool that we had seen. That wasn't the worst of it, either; here and there I could see large chunks of flesh, still oozing and covered in swarms of feeding insects.

"There's so much blood!" my sister gasped, still bent double and clutching at her stomach, "How is there so _much _blood?"

"Blood's like that," I said, and surprised myself at how calm I was, "It always looks like there's more than there actually is."

"Firma, it's almost _raining_ in there! Oh gods-" Terra choked, and there was the sounds of further retching.

"We're still missing something, though," I frowned, "Where's the body? There's no kill here."

"I think...that's what Locke was worried about," Terra said, as she straightened up, "Can we go before whatever did this comes back?"

"Hold on, Tee," I said, "I just want to see if there's any clues-"

"Firma, stop!" she said, and caught my hand, "This is bad news. _Really_ bad news. You said this place felt wrong? You were right - and this is _why!_"

"But-"

"We came here to find out if there was anyone still alive, yeah?" she continued, "Well, there _isn't!_ We've done what we came to do - now let's go before whatever did this comes back!"

"Look, just give me two seconds, okay? I'll just check the blood and have a quick scout around for anything that might identify the victim."

"But there's no _point_ to this! What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing!"

"Then _why?_ If this is about what I said earlier then I'm sorry, okay? I was stressed and I took it out on you," for a moment her eyes flicked over to a particularly large chunk of meat, and she shuddered, "But this isn't clever and it isn't brave. Its...stupid."

"If we don't find out what happened here, it could be _us_ next," I said simply, "We'll get some information, tell Locke - maybe he's heard of something that can do this. Maybe he'll be able to watch for it."

There was a long pause, and then Terra released my hand, "Fine! _Be _stupid. I just hope that we don't end up paying for it."

"Yeah, me too."

The instant I stepped into the little alcove, a little shudder of the vines above brought a shower of still-warm blood down on my head. That was bad enough, but when coupled with the thick liquid slowly seeping into my boots...misplaced bravery or not, there was absolutely no way I was spending any more time in here then I absolutely had to! Quickly, I knelt down and ran my fingers through the blood.

"Oh gods - Firma, _what_ are you doing?" Terra asked impatiently, "Stop wasting time!"

"Hold on," I said, and closed my eyes. Almost instantly, the information burst into my mind, "There's two distinct blood types here. That would explain why there's so much of it- this didn't just come from one person."

"You can tell that just by _touching _the blood?" she said, a little dubiously.

"It's a bit like sensing an injury," I said, "Except there's obviously no-one here to treat."

"'Wish I could do that."

"Well, I can't make a crossbow that glows in the dark, now can I?"

"I suppose not," Terra admitted, "Is there anything else?"

"I think...there was a man and a woman here," I said, "The hormone levels are a little weird, but it makes sense if their blood's mixed together."

"That's great, Firma - but it doesn't really tell us anything about them, what killed them, _or _where they are!" my sister said, "Will you _please _admit defeat so we can go?"

"...okay," I conceded, and opened my eyes. Just then, something glinted towards the back of the alcove - something metallic, "Oh - hold on two seconds. There's something back here."

"Firma-!"

My questing hands closed around the glinting object and pulled, revealing a long, silvery chain to which was attached a small steel tag. With a sinking feeling, I wiped the worst of the mud off the tag and was not entirely surprised to find the distinct emblem of the Imperial Army engraved on the back.

"I've got a tag here, Tee," I said, and gave her an unhappy look, "Whoever this person was, they were from the Empire."

"Really?" Terra suddenly sounded interested, "Can I see?"

"Sure," I said, and threw her the chain. As I turned back, I spotted an immediately recognisable shape tangled up in a clump of vines, "There's a submachinegun here, too. I'm guessing its an Imperial model, and I _know_ I've seen one like this recently…"

"Apparently this person was 'Lucy'," Terra said, digging carefully at the encrusted tag, "'Says here her blood type was 'O'."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Just a string of numbers after that. There's nothing else on here."

"She was a Wraith, then," I said, and sat back on my haunches, "...and that reminds me where I last saw a gun like this. Edgar and I were point-blanked by someone carrying one just like it in the Hotel Royal. They were probably part of the same team."

"Do you think they were lying in wait for us?"

"Unless you can think of another reason for them to be down here," I admitted, "It looks like something got them first, though."

"Yeah," Terra said quietly, and then continued, "I know that I shouldn't feel sorry for them, but...nobody deserves this. I just hope it was quick."

"I'm sure it was, Tee," I smiled weakly, "I'm absolutely sure it was. Anyway-" with a crack of thunder I ignited my wrist blade, "-let me get my hands on this sub; there's something unusual about it…"

Curious, but still conscious of the need for speed, I gently prodded each tendril in turn with the tip of the blade, slicing them neatly into two smoking halves. As I came to cut the last one, however, something about it made me pause for a moment and peer a little closer. Unlike the other vines, which appeared to have become entangled with the weapon by accident, this one had somehow managed to coil itself tightly around the barrel and trigger mechanism. It was thicker than the others, too; and upon closer inspection I realised that it possessed long, viciously sharp ridges that were stained a deeper, dark red than the surrounding growths.

"Um...Tee?" I said, backing away slightly, "I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think I may have just worked out how our would-be assassins died."

"Oh? How?"

"I think it's that vine - the one wrapped around the gun. Plants don't normally grow around things that quickly - and do you see those edges?"

"Yeah," she said, in a voice of somewhat forced calm, "I think I see now why there's so much blood around. Can you imagine that wrapped around your neck?"

"I'm trying not to," I said, and cut the power to my magical blade, "You know what? I think we've got enough information here, Tee. Let's go and ask Locke if he knows anything about carnivorous plants that hunt with bladed vines."

Slowly and carefully, I clambered to my feet and stepped towards my sister, keeping an eye trained on the vicious-looking plant. Unusual or not, I was not about to pester something that had possibly diced up two Wraiths just to get my hands on that submachinegun. We would leave, quietly, and find another way around…

My foot brushed past a bloodied mess of mud and tendrils, and I was sure I felt something shiver against my boot. In the instant I was distracted a shriek of protesting metal cut through the air, and I watched, stunned, as the vine uncoiled itself with stunning speed and vanished into the undergrowth, leaving deep grooves across the surface of the submachine gun.

"What the-" I began, and then with an explosion of greenery the bladed plant burst back into the alcove, thrashing blindly in pursuit of its prey. My shields took the first blow from the heavy vine with a shower of sparks, but before I could react the blindingly fast predator coiled back on itself and whipped me hard across the chest. There was a spurt of blood, and my world turned grey and blurry as I staggered backwards and hit the floor like a sack of cement.

"Firma!" somehow, I heard Terra's cry over the ringing in my ears. Somewhere overhead, I heard a roar and then the alcove exploded into sheets of flame and the acrid stench of burning blood. Despite the intense heat, the vine continued its lethal dervish, slashing lower and closer even as parts disintegrated into flaming ash, and I had a sudden, horrific image of being wrapped in the burning, razor-sharp carcass of the plant.

Another fireball detonated overhead, and I dimly heard a yell of anger before Terra came storming into the alcove, wielding a jet of white-hot flame in the palm of her hand. The twitching vine suddenly changed direction and lashed out at my sister, and she gasped in pain and stumbled as it sliced her arm wrist to elbow. Brought back to my senses by her cry, I shouldered myself up and, as the creeper bunched itself up for a final strike, blew it to pieces with a well-placed bolt of lightning before collapsing back into the mud, exhausted and in agony.

"Well, that was fun," I whispered, and then found myself doubling up, coughing a deep, wracking cough that only served to intensify the pain in my chest. A hand fell on my shoulder, and I looked up to find my sister staring down at me with wide, anxious eyes.

"Are you okay, Firma? It looked like that thing hit you pretty hard," her eyes travelled down to my chest, and then she added, "Gods! You're bleeding!"

"Funny, that," I said, and laughed humorlessly, "So're you."

"It's not serious," she said dismissively, and knelt down beside me, "What do I do? Do I put pressure on it? Do I-"

"I'll heal, Tee," I assured her, "Anyway, I think we have a bigger problem here."  
"What? It's dead," she said, "We reduced it to little pieces of ash!"

"It's not the only one."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Absolutely," I nodded, and winced as my chest wound reminded me of its existence, "Creepers and vines grow really quickly, and I can't imagine something with an elaborate setup like this being confined to this little spot. It'd never get enough to eat."

"So...we've wandered into a plant-based minefield?"

"Or a spider's web, yeah," I looked at the extravagant greenery on the trench walls, and sighed, "I'd say to burn it out, but down here it'd be like striking a match in a gunpowder factory. We'd probably cause a wildfire, too."

"Well, this is just great!" Terra said, sharply, "Didn't I say something like this was going to happen? Didn't I _warn _you?"

"You did," I smiled wryly, "Still, we've found out that the Wraiths are setting ambushes _and_ that we're in danger of being diced up by a killer plant. I'd say that's a fair trade, wouldn't you?"

"You could have been killed!"

"I wasn't, thanks to you."

"What if I hadn't come? Have you thought of that?" she continued furiously, "You could've ended up by those assassins - just bits of flesh and blood! I...you…" there were tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and suddenly she lunged forward and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug, whispering "You're an idiot. An _absolute_ idiot."

"'Sorry, Tee," I said, patting her gently on the back, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Well, if you're trying to make me _less _anxious, this isn't the right way to do it. _Listen_ to me next time, will you?" she smiled wanly, and apparently let it drop, "Anyway, how did it know where you were? How did it know where _I_ was?"

"Touch, I think - I'm sure I brushed a root just before it attacked, and I think you must have touched something similar when you decided to charge on in," I said, and scowled at the still-smoking ruins of our attacker, "By the way that thing was flailing, I think it must have been a reflex mechanism."

"Well, we're not going to make any progress talking amongst ourselves," Terra said, "We'd better go and talk to Locke. If he _has_ heard of something like this, maybe he knows what to do about it."


End file.
